From The Ashes
by Estora
Summary: AU. Anakin jumped after Padmé on Geonosis, and in that split second, the entire course of the galaxy's future was changed...One moment. One choice. A lifetime of difference. Initial Anakin/Padmé, extremely slow-building Anakin/Obi-Wan.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Prologue –

"Hold on!"

It is more due to reflex than a case of following his Master's orders that Anakin Skywalker grasps a handle tightly as another hit from the droid army jerks the vehicle. Twisting around, he makes sure Padmé, too, has a firm grip. Her smile of grim determination makes her look beautiful, despite the dust and blood she is covered in. He longs to hold her, to kiss her, but Anakin instead only returns the smile, trying to convey as much of his love into it as he can, knowing – fearing – that Obi-Wan is too close by to risk doing anything else.

He hopes his angel understands.

Although he feels exhaustion creeping in around the corners of his consciousness, it is cast aside by the rush of adrenalin when he observes the battle below. His mechanics' mind and his strategic superiority quickly calculate the battle, and his eyes lock onto the Separatists constructions. "Aim right above the fuel cells," he calls to the clones, and they fire as soon as they are in range.

True to his prediction, the fuel cells explode and the hideous war weapon collapses, destroying a large mass of the Separatist droid army, as they zip ahead of the battle. Anakin smirks triumphantly, relishing his own personal victory. Obi-Wan faces him, grinning widely. "Good call, my young Padawan!" he shouts, and Anakin is glad his Master twists away again before he can see the flush of pride that has spread across the Padawan learner's face.

The battle and the sound, the _scent_, of death are quickly left behind them as they speed ahead.

"Look, over there!" Obi-Wan suddenly cries, pointing. A small speeder, flanked by two fighters, tear across the sand dunes. From the distance, it is difficult to make out the figure, but through the Force, Anakin can sense them.

"It's Dooku," Anakin says. "Shoot him down!"

"We're out of ordnance," is the reply. Anakin pushes away the burst of frustration and the paranoid feeling that the galaxy is out to get him. _Focus on the present_, a voice in the back of his mind tells him. The voice sounds suspiciously like Obi-Wan's, but he doesn't acknowledge it, and he orders the pilot to follow the speeder.

"We're gonna need some help!" Padmé cries, looking at Obi-Wan incredulously as if she can't believe he'd so readily risk his and Anakin's lives. Part of Anakin longs to agree with Padmé, simply for the sake of agreeing with her.

"There isn't time! Anakin and I can handle this!" Obi-Wan yells back over the roar of the engine. Anakin has nothing to add to this – content to take the moment to bask in Obi-Wan's implied admittance in his faith in him, so seldom heard.

As the battle rages behind them and Dooku flies on ahead, the two fighters flanking his left and right break off and spin around behind the clone's vehicle, and start to fire. They are jolted violently as hit after hit threatens to immobilise them – risks them to lose their gaining ground on Dooku.

Another violent blast rocks the vehicle – but Padmé's grip isn't strong enough this time, and she topples backwards, falling from the ship into the dunes with a startled cry. Even as he lunges towards her, hoping to catch her or balance her, Anakin knows his efforts are futile, and in that instant, his heart nearly stops.

"PADMÉ!" Anakin screams, watching hopelessly when she rolls down the dune and wanting to do nothing more than to leap out after her. Rounding on the clone pilot, he orders, "Put the ship down!"

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan snaps, jumping in front of him. "Don't let your personal feelings get in the way!"

Fury clouds his vision as Obi-Wan snaps back at the pilot to follow Dooku's speeder.

"Lower the ship!" Anakin screams again. To his shame and horror, he can feel tears of desperation sting his eyes, watching Padmé's white and motionless figure in the sand becoming smaller and smaller.

"I can't take Dooku alone!" Obi-Wan's voice invades his despair again. "_I need you!_ If we catch him we can end this war right now! We have a job to do!"

For a startled moment, Anakin's attention is completely at Obi-Wan's mercy, held hostage by his heated gaze. Auburn hair is whipping around his dusty, bloodied face, his blue-green eyes blazing, and his knuckles white from the strength of his grip – in that moment, Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi looks terrifying, a force not to be reckoned with; dangerous, but righteous. Powerful.

Angry.

But the moment passes as quickly as it came, and Anakin's thoughts are recaptured by Padmé as if they had never strayed. "I don't care! Put the ship down!"

He _doesn't_ care – and perhaps this is what frightens him the most.

"You will be expelled from the Jedi Order!"

The words mean nothing to him. Their meaning refuses to comprehend. _Padmé_, is all he is capable of thinking. "_I can't leave her!_" he screams, his Padawan braid lashing at his face in the wind, a cruel reminder of everything Obi-Wan is telling him. He has never wanted to cut it off more than that second.

Obi-Wan's voice is hoarse from his shouting. "Come to your senses!" he cries, sounding almost desperate – furious. "What do you think Padmé would do were she in your position?

In that split second, Anakin sees two choices.

_She would do her duty_, is the hard choice, the _right_ answer, and he would have stay on the ship with Obi-Wan to follow Dooku. To leave Padmé behind.

_Fuck duty_, is the other.

With a glare, Anakin turns and leaps off the ship into the rocky Geonosian terrain. The last thing he sees before crashing to the ground is Obi-Wan's shocked and pale face – betrayed.


	2. The Duel With Dooku

_Disclaimer:__This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter One –  
The Duel With Dooku

Anakin Skywalker falls.

Obi-Wan Kenobi watches in horror as his Padawan lands awkwardly on the rugged terrain. The scream of denial is frozen in his throat – he can do nothing, _nothing_, as Anakin disappears into the distance, and he despises himself for it.

The only thing he truly wants is to order the clones to turn the ship around.

Which he knows he can't do.

Sand stings his eyes, making them water – or at least, that's what he tells himself when he forces himself to look away, and focuses on Dooku again, to plan his attack. It is with a sickening jolt, somewhere behind his navel, that he realises fearfully he _can't_ do this without his Padawan. He meant what he said to Anakin.

_I can't take Dooku alone! I need you!_

Feelings that he knows he needs to release into the Force begin to blur his vision. Shock – even though he and Anakin have had their differences, he has always been able to count on him being there. _Always_. Anger, for the abandonment. Jealousy, that Anakin has chosen the Senator over his Master of ten years.

_I don't care! I can't leave her!_

The words, frantic and panicked words of a love-struck boy, mercilessly torment him. Anakin _doesn't_ care; at least not enough to stay by his Master's side. Should it hurt this much? he thinks. Should it hurt this much to know that Anakin cares more about a girl than the outbreak of war, than the millions of lives that will be affected? That he cares more about the beautiful Senator of Naboo than his place in the Order? Than _Obi-Wan_?

Obi-Wan can't blame the wind anymore.

"Sir?"

The clone pilot is unsure of what to do, having lost two passengers – three including the clone that fell with Padmé – and is looking to Obi-Wan for orders. How easy it would be to tell him to forget about the Count of Serenno and to go back for Anakin. How easy, just two words: _go back_. He supposes this is exactly how Anakin must have felt.

But Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Jedi Knight, through and through, and he knows what he has to do. He uses his coarse palm to dry his eyes. "Keep going," he grimly commands, his heart breaking, and he feels like throwing up as the pilot obeys. It is the hardest thing he has ever said in his life.

_Oh, Anakin…_

* * *

He leaps off the ship before it explodes, killing the remaining clones, and tears after Dooku into the hangar. Azure lightsaber drawn and humming dangerously in the shadows, Obi-Wan slows to a stop before Dooku. The air is silent and heavy between the two men, and in that instant, there is only one thing stopping each other from attacking – the only thing they mutually respect and have in common: Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan slows his harsh breathing and keeps his lightsaber at the ready, but Dooku just stares back at him calmly, even a little mockingly. The Count's eyebrows rise.

"Alone, Master Kenobi?"

His smooth tone echoes around the hangar. Obi-Wan is determined to not let him see how the words affect him, but Anakin's abandonment is fresh in his mind – is too difficult to release – and he feels his lips press into a thin line. He does not answer – does not trust himself to answer. Dooku laughs, a deep baritone sound that reminds Obi-Wan sharply of Qui-Gon.

"Where has your Padawan gone?"

"He took a little fall," Obi-Wan replies pleasantly, surprising himself with the façade of tranquillity. "He'll be along shortly."

As a negotiator, Obi-Wan needs to be good at bluffing, but here, now, he can feel his resolve slipping. He has never been a good liar – he knows his shields aren't at full strength and that Dooku can no doubt feel the ends of his emotions vibrating through the Force. True to his suspicions, the Count of Serenno only looks pleased. "Indeed," Dooku muses, as if just humouring Obi-Wan. "Either way, however, you are still alone…and I assure you, my Jedi powers are far beyond yours."

Lightning shoots from Dooku's fingertips, crackling with the raw brutality of the Dark Side. Obi-Wan catches it with his lightsaber, holding firm until Dooku drops his hand and relinquishes the lightning.

"Stand down."

An order, not a request.

"I don't think so," Obi-Wan says.

Dooku looks almost reluctant, as if he is displeased by Obi-Wan's defiance. As the two walk around each other, slowly, Dooku unclips his lightsaber from his waist and ignites the blood red beam.

Even before they lunge at each other, even before their blades crash together to start the inevitably deadly duel, Obi-Wan knows it is useless, and all he is doing is buying time in the futile hope that someone else will arrive. Count Dooku is one of the most renowned swordsmen in the galaxy – only Masters Yoda and Windu are considered to have ever fought on equal terms with him.

Obi-Wan Kenobi is a fair swordsman, and well on the way to mastery of Form III – Soresu. But he is not there yet, and as he defends himself against the Count's fluid, deadly strokes, he thinks that perhaps he won't ever live to experience the day when or if he does. A fine sheath of sweat covers his forehead, trickles down his neck, and Obi-Wan breaks out of the dance of death the two have initiated, once again taking a defensive position. Dooku smiles mockingly, and Obi-Wan knows that he is being toyed with.

Of course he is no match for Dooku – not without Anakin beside him.

"Master Kenobi, you disappoint me. Yoda holds you in such _high_ esteem."

The Count's blade casts an eerie red light on the ex-Jedi's face; he looks amused, bathed in blood, as if he can't believe Obi-Wan is actually _trying_ to fight him.

Neither can Obi-Wan, for that matter.

Blades hum in the air as they swoop down to lock again. Obi-Wan blocks a few blows, realising them now to be nothing more than vicious play – like a puuri cat playing with its prey, a small, insignificant creature, pretending to let it go then pouncing once more, in preparation to snap its neck for a feast.

"Surely you can do better!"

He lets the taunts roll off him – this isn't about being better, or winning. This is about survival, and right now, this is looking very bleak.

Another lock. Obi-Wan grasps his weapon tightly, trying to force Dooku's blade out of the way, in the hope that he might yet break through the older man's impenetrable offence –

But Dooku releases at the last moment, pushing Obi-Wan's lightsaber away as easily as swatting a fly, and plunges his blade through Obi-Wan's left shoulder, then impales his right thigh.

He doesn't remember falling to the floor or screaming, but he can feel the smooth chill of the ground beneath him and strangled cries dying around the chamber. The raw ache in his throat is nothing compared to the indescribable pain that blurs his reality. He can't move, can barely breathe – choking for air, Obi-Wan trembles on the floor, his lightsaber far beyond reach.

"So _this_ is Qui-Gon's legacy."

Dooku's smooth, scornful voice infiltrates the haze of pain.

"A terrible shame. I cannot begin to imagine how disenchanted he would have been in you right now."

"I suppose…you think…he'd be proud of _you_?" Obi-Wan manages to gasp out. Lying on the floor in a heap of undiluted agony, shaking and gasping for air, it is an effort to even get his mouth moving and his mind working, but somehow he knows that, if he is going to die, he will do it with as much dignity and defiance as he can muster. "You…fool. Qui-Gon…would not have…been able…to even _look_ at you…after what you…you've done."

Dooku speaks on as if Obi-Wan hadn't said a thing. "Qui-Gon was a wise man, and I expected much more from his old Padawan. I confess, Master Kenobi, I do still hope for you to see things from my perspective. Qui-Gon would have recognised the corruption in the Council long before now. He spoke often of your intelligence. I am not a merciless man, Obi-Wan. I believe in chances. I am prepared to give you another. Join me, Obi-Wan – my Padawan's Padawan."

Obi-Wan suspects he may be delusional when he thinks for a moment that Dooku sounds almost affectionate.

In his last moments, Obi-Wan knows he should be serene; the epitome of the perfect Jedi, emotionless, and at peace with the Force.

But his injuries have taken their toll on him, and Obi-Wan doesn't feel like collecting himself. Still recoiling from Anakin's actions, and his left arm and right leg immobilised and burning, and the Force screaming in agony from the number of Jedi lives that were taken today, Obi-Wan can't be the perfect Jedi. Even though he feels despicable as he lifts his head proudly, letting his burning glare meet Dooku's eyes, he still does it, and lets his anger fuel his words: "I would rather die."

Dooku's merciful façade falls instantly, replaced by cold disgust. "Then so be it," the Count says. With a hiss, his red lightsaber is ignited, a beam of death hovering above Obi-Wan's trembling body.

This is it, then, he thinks.

Yet he knows, _feels_, that it isn't. It can't be. Someone must be coming, anyone, clones, Jedi – _anyone_ – they just need the time that is quickly pouring through the gaps between his fingers like water. Anakin might have abandoned him to this fate, but the Force hasn't, not yet. He lets the Force take over as he throws out his uninjured arm, calling his lightsaber to his hand, and doesn't think – only reacts. He blocks the fatal blow as best he can, blood on azure, and uses his left leg to kick Dooku's shin, trying with all his might to push past the pain his movements cause him. He distantly hears the Count's grunt of surprise, and the red lightsaber is pulled away.

"So bold, even now, Master Kenobi? I thought you were smarter than that."

"I'm a…slow learner."

"Then I suppose I shall have to teach you another lesson."

The azure blade catches the lightning once more, but Obi-Wan's grip falters and the weapon is torn from his hand again, landing out of his vision. He cannot defend himself against the next shock of lightning.

It burns.

Force, it _burns_.

_Anakin! ANAKIN!_

He doesn't know if he's screamed it out or if his plea exists only in his mind. The name alone brings him comfort as he loses all clarity of thought in his torture, but even then he is reminded, brutally, that Anakin isn't coming. Anakin isn't there.

He feels burnt, tender, and the scent of ash fills the air. Has Dooku stopped? He doesn't know. It hurts to breathe and move – it even hurts to think.

The Force has left him. His Padawan has deserted him. And Dooku is raising his lightsaber, preparing for the final blow.

_Anakin, why…?_

The last thing he sees before darkness takes over is a green blade cutting across his failing vision, intercepting a descending blood red lightsaber.


	3. Sand And Ash

_Disclaimer:__This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Two –  
Sand And Ash

It doesn't take Anakin long to reach Padmé's unconscious figure. Feet sinking into the sand, he falls beside her figure and tenderly pulls her body towards him. She groans into his chest and he fights back tears – tears of relief, that she is all right, and tears of fear, that he could have lost her. "Padmé," he whispers, brushing sand out of her hair. "Padmé, are you all right?"

She groans again and opens her eyes, blinking up at Anakin's face. "Oh, Anakin…" she breathes, a smile lighting her delicate features. "I'm…I'm fine."

Those few seconds feel like a perfect slice of heaven; a moment as beautiful as their time in the lush setting of Naboo. He could stay this way forever, just holding his angel in his arms, content to forget about the war and bloodshed.

But the moment can't last forever. Reluctantly he stands and pulls Padmé slowly to her feet. She sways a little and he steadies her as she looks around. "I was so frightened for you, Padmé," he confesses quietly. She holds his hand tightly in response, but a small frown creases her forehead.

"Where's Obi-Wan? What about Dooku?"

And then, reality rushes back.

_I can't take Dooku alone! I need you!_

Anakin feels himself shudder and tries to hold back a gag. He barely notices the clone trooper running up to them, or Padmé's concerned arms gripping his biceps – all he can see, in his mind's eye, is Obi-Wan's pale face, shattered with shock and betrayal, as he jumped from the transport.

"I…I couldn't leave you," Anakin whispers. "Obi-Wan is – Obi-Wan won't take Dooku alone. He'll wait for me. I know he will."

Even as the words fall from his lips he knows they aren't true. Of course Obi-Wan can't take Dooku alone, he said so himself – but he will anyway.

A glance at Padmé's face tells him that she doesn't believe him either. "We have to get to that hangar," she says firmly. Turning to face the clone, who has been waiting patiently for the two secret lovers to finish, she asks, "Is there some form of transport we can use to get there?"

"We can flag down a ship," the clone confirms.

"Good. Gather as many troops as you can – we need to get there! Hurry!"

She sounds like the Senator she was born to be, determined, powerful, and in control, and Anakin is amazed, once more, with her grace and resolution. As Anakin, Padmé and the clone jog off in the direction of the hangar, it takes all he can to hide the ever growing shame that is threatening to consume him.

He doesn't regret coming back for Padmé, he thinks as he watches her. Of course he doesn't. He only regrets that it has been at the expense of Obi-Wan. But he's going there now, he convinces himself. He'll be there for Obi-Wan, he'll make it in time to help him, to face Dooku. They're making good time, even on foot, and as they flag down a transport, hope begins to take over the growing guilt.

_I can't take Dooku alone! I need you!_

Obi-Wan _can't_ have taken Dooku alone. He _has_ to have waited and distracted him somehow.

Anakin finds himself pleading, stepping into the transport and grasping at a handle. _Please don't face Dooku alone, Master. Please, please wait for me – I won't fail you, I promise…_

The nasty voice in the back of his mind laughs. _But you've already failed him_, it hisses. _He'll be furious at you for deserting him…_

Unexpectedly, pain rips through his left shoulder and right thigh, one after the other, and a startled cry is torn from his throat. Gasping for air, he falls to his knees and leans into Padmé's embrace. "Anakin! What is it?" he hears her ask.

"Something's wrong," he manages to grind out. "Obi-Wan – something's – can we go any faster?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but this is as fast as we can go."

Although he knows, in reality, that the trip will only take a few minutes, a few seconds feel like hours. His head pounds, his terrified heartbeat drowning out the roaring engine. It feels like his body is burning, and he wants writhe but he's being supported by Padmé and a clone, and he can feel himself screaming, screaming –

_Anakin! ANAKIN!_

"Obi-Wan –" he gasps. "We need to go faster!"

"Sir, this is –"

"_I don't care, just go faster!_"

Padmé's hands on his shoulders do nothing to calm him. Something's wrong. Something's very, very wrong. If he was scared for Padmé before, it doesn't compare to the absolute, mindless terror he feels for Obi-Wan right now.

_Anakin, why…?_

Obi-Wan's strained voice plagues his mind as the wind rushes past and the sand lashes at his face. It's taking a long time to get to the hanger – too long. _Faster_, Anakin urges the vessel. _Faster!_ The lip of the hangar zooms into view and he leaps out of the vehicle just as it pulls up – and just as a small ship flies out of the other one. The clones begin firing at it, to no avail, but Anakin doesn't care about that, and he runs into the hangar at breakneck speed. The first thing that hits him is the smell of ash that clogs the air; his lightsaber is ignited and at the ready – and he freezes.

The weapon falls from his hand and clatters to the ground when he rushes forwards with a strangled moan to the fallen figure lying motionless on the hangar floor, half hidden in the shadows. Anakin collapses beside his Master, and gingerly touches his shoulder, terrified. "Master?"

Obi-Wan doesn't – or can't – react; his eyes are closed and his face is tense and slick with sweat, even in his unconsciousness. In the back of his mind, he realises that the scent of ash is coming from Obi-Wan, and he fights down a wave of nausea. _Don't let him be dead, please don't let him be dead._

The _tap-tap_ of a gimmer stick comes up from behind Anakin. He pointedly ignores the Grandmaster's presence, which he is sure Yoda does not appreciate, but at the moment, he really doesn't care.

"Master," he tries again, his throat closed. The only response is a faint groan and a ripple of pain in the Force. Anakin snatches his hand away, realising too late that he is pressing down on an injury. He feels ill when he realises the extent of the wound – a through-and-through lightsaber impalement, and the same on Obi-Wan's right thigh. But at least he is alive, and this much gives him a brief respite of much needed comfort and utter relief. "What happened?" Anakin croaks, even though he already knows the answer.

"Gravely injured by Dooku, Knight Kenobi is. Urgent medical attention, he now needs, but live he will. Stand aside, young Skywalker."

"No, I can't –"

"Stand aside, you will!"

The gimmer stick connects with his shins when he tries to stand. "I _won't_ –!"

"Space, Obi-Wan needs, not your panic!"

Anakin wants to pick the little troll up and hurl him across the hangar, but restrains himself. Furiously turning from the Grandmaster, he spots the clones lingering at the lips of the hangar. "Contact healers and medics – now! This is an emergency!" he snaps at the clones.

"Right away, sir."

He wants to go back to Obi-Wan, to fall to his knees beside his Master and sob, beg for forgiveness, to tell him he's sorry for abandoning him. His pride is the only thing stopping him – that, and Master Yoda's gimmer stick.

But most of all, the one thing _truly_ stopping him from returning to his Master is the guilt; the knowledge that he simply doesn't deserve to be at Obi-Wan's side.

Not after what he did.

So instead he retreats to a rocky corner of the hangar and sits down heavily, staring at his trembling hands and not daring to cast his eyes over Obi-Wan's lifeless figure. From this distance, he looks dead with Yoda leaning over him, and Anakin can't handle the thought of this right now. He feels Padmé sit beside him and take one of his shaking hands, but doesn't look up at her either.

"He'll be all right, Ani. You'll see."

Anakin shakes his head. "You couldn't feel what I felt. He's hurt. Really hurt. I should've been here, Padmé, I shouldn't have left him!" he says roughly. "I should have _been here!_ I _knew_ he couldn't take Dooku on his own, but I…I…"

_But I chose you instead._

She wraps her arms around him and lets him press his face into her hair, clenching his eyes tightly closed. He is grateful for her comfort – he suspects, _knows_, that the Jedi Council will not be so forgiving of this attachment, and his disobedience. Of his desertion. Yet even as Padmé holds him, acting as his lifeline and temporary absolution while he can feel Obi-Wan's agony pulsating through the Force, he finds himself desperately wishing for Obi-Wan's embrace instead.

The medical transport arrives quickly, but not soon enough for Anakin. Although the medic clones are gentle with Obi-Wan, the Knight groans loudly with any movement, and Anakin snaps at them to be more careful when he feels what he knows to be a bare fraction of his Master's pain echo across their training bond.

No matter how far away Anakin moves away from Obi-Wan, the scent of ash pollutes the air, and it will not leave him alone. It follows him, reminds him.

Death, Anakin realises when he staggers out of the transport to follow the clones taking Obi-Wan to the medical setup, dazed. Ash smells just like death.


	4. Altruism

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Three –  
Altruism

The week following that terrible day is the hardest week Anakin thinks he has ever endured.

The Council has yet to speak to him – they have been kept occupied by the war – but Anakin knows the time will be soon, and he dreads it with his very being. He has too much to answer for, though he refuses to think about it. It is inevitable that he will be cast out of the Order.

Worse, Padmé is disappointed in him. She hasn't admitted it in so many words, but it's so obvious that now he can't be around her for too long without feeling like throwing up from the guilt that has settled in the pit of his (often empty) stomach. She has said nothing, yet he knows – he can feel her emotions through the Force, the weight of her displeasure at his negligence of duty, radiating from her even as she holds him when he cries. Of course she would feel this way – Senator Padmé Amidala, whose responsibility was always first and foremost to her duty and her people – and Anakin feels like a selfish little child when he is near her.

He knows why she hasn't said anything. He must look so pathetic and miserable to her, and she has always been so compassionate, so understanding; she may not like or approve of his actions, but she does understand what he is going through, and is trying to not make him feel even more poorly. His own guilt is punishment enough, for now.

However, these issues pale dramatically in comparison to the fact that Obi-Wan hasn't yet woken up.

When first brought in, the Jedi's condition was listed as 'critical' – severe lightsaber wounds to left shoulder and right thigh, muscle spasms, nerve and bone damage, arterial destruction, and heart palpitations. Since then, Anakin has hardly slept.

Although the wounds are healing and his heart beating normally again, the medics have warned that there is a chance Obi-Wan may be in chronic pain for the rest of his life, and it is likely he will walk with a limp, from the nerve and bone lightsaber wounds.

The cost, Anakin thinks bitterly, for his selfish actions has been high, far too high, and he doesn't want to consider just how much higher it could have been.

He doesn't think he could stand it.

_Anakin, why…?_

Why what? Why did he abandon him? Why did he leave him to his fate, to face death? Anakin doesn't have an answer, not really.

_I needed to save Padmé. I needed to make sure she was fine, I thought she was more important – I love her, I couldn't leave her…_

Weak excuses.

Padmé had been fine.

Anakin hates these thoughts. He hates the way they torment him in his every waking and sleeping moment, taunting and _truthful_. He can't think about it, it hurts to much to remind himself – he _has_ to believe he made the right choice in going back for Padmé, because the alternative, that he deserted his Master for no reason and left him to almost certain death, is too cruel to live with.

Anakin has hardly left Obi-Wan's side, even though he knows he doesn't deserve to be there. He doesn't like watching Obi-Wan's face; sometimes he looks so still, so death-like, that it is all too easy to imagine that his Master has stopped breathing all together. He is clutching his Master's limp, clammy hand as if that alone is his anchor in life when a tall shadow falls across him. Anakin doesn't need to look up to know that the intruder isn't a medic.

"How is he?"

Anakin finds it strange to see an uncharacteristically concerned Master Windu. Truthfully, it is rather disconcerting. "He hasn't woken up yet," he answers.

"Hmm." Windu walks around the other side of the bed and crosses his arms over his chest. "I need to speak with you, Skywalker. May we move somewhere more private?"

"I'd prefer to be with my Master," Anakin says bluntly, forever disobedient. He is again surprised when Windu doesn't put up much of a fight, and instead only pulls up a chair and huffs indignantly.

"Everything is always your way, isn't it," Windu mutters. Anakin doesn't respond. Windu's tone is laced with suspicion when he leans forward, rests his chin on his hand, and asks, "Padawan Skywalker, why did Obi-Wan face Dooku alone?"

Of course it would be Mace Windu to ask the very question he has been dreading. There is no dancing around the issue with the Korun Master – he is sharp and straight to the point. Anakin doesn't know whether to be grateful or terrified; all he knows is that his heart has fallen to the pit of his stomach and his hands are shaking.

If he listens closely, he is sure he can hear the Force laughing at him.

(Or maybe it's Master Yoda, the evil little troll.)

And now, Anakin thinks, is the moment of the horrible, shameful truth. He briefly considers lying – telling them that he fell from the vehicle when it was fired upon, and had to stick with Senator Amidala to find a way to get to the hangar as soon as possible – but he knows he won't be able to. Not with Obi-Wan right beside him. Not with his own guilt so consuming.

"I –"

"An'kin…fell…"

Anakin's heart leaps at the sound of the raspy voice and his eyes snap towards Obi-Wan's face. Eyes half-lidded and struggling to flutter open, his face is tensed with pain and effort as his tries to lift his head. A light sheen of sweat covers his forehead, making him look feverish.

"Master?" Anakin says, but Obi-Wan is facing only in the vague direction of Windu, his mouth struggling to form words.

"H'd no choice…h'd t'keep goin'…Dooku…" Obi-Wan slurs, then his head rolls back onto the pillow, unconscious once more.

Anakin's mind feels numb, and he certainly can't believe what he has just heard.

"Is this true, Skywalker?"

Anakin doesn't remember nodding, but he must have done. Windu frowns at Anakin, and makes it clear that he doesn't believe any of it without even having to say a word. An eyebrow raised and a dismayed expression, Windu leans back and crosses his arms again.

"Very well," Windu practically grits out. "I'll pass this knowledge along to the Council. In the meantime, it has been suggested that you are given a reprieve while Obi-Wan is recovering. Are you up to escorting Senator Amidala back to Naboo?"

A week ago, Anakin would have jumped at the opportunity without a second thought.

Now, he is completely torn.

On the one hand, it is the perfect escape. The perfect retreat, the perfect opportunity to flee from his guilt, and the perfect place to pretend that everything has been some horrible nightmare – his mother's death, the massacre, the war, _Obi-Wan_. The perfect setting to embrace Padmé, and share his love, and prove it to her by defying his Jedi vows and asking her hand in marriage in secret, because he loves her enough to risk everything just to be with her.

On the other, he knows it won't last. Running, hiding, only to inevitably be found. There is no escaping what he has done, of that he knows for sure. There is no room to pretend nothing has happened, no frame of mind for it. Yes, he has already done so much to shame the Order, so what more could another selfish action hurt? Marriage, sharing his life with Padmé, flaunting his attachment…would it really be worth it? His selfishness has already done so much, caused so much grief, both for him and those around him, and it would wrong, just so _wrong_, to keep letting it happen. Obi-Wan's life; Anakin's status as a Jedi; all because of his love for Padmé.

Would _Padmé_ want that? Would she really expect him to put everything he has ever held dear on the line for her?

No, Anakin realises in a flash, she would not. Perhaps if he was less selfish, had been more dutiful and done the right thing in going after Dooku to stand by Obi-Wan's side, he might dare to hope, but…_a light breeze caresses his face and hair, carrying the sweet scent of flowers and fresh air, as Padmé looks up at him, her eyes full of love and wonder and her face lit by a tender smile of warmth and passion…she looks so beautiful, in her white dress, and her lips feel so soft beneath his as they kiss, sealing their vows before the crystalline lake of Theed…_

The image fades before his eyes, and Anakin bows his head. The future, or a future that could have been? Whatever it was, it's gone now.

"Skywalker?"

He has stayed silent for too long. _Yes_, is what his heart wants him to scream.

_No_, is what his mind tells him to say.

Anakin Skywalker too often listens to his heart, and too often it gets him into trouble. Right here, right now, he finally knows which one to listen to; which one Obi-Wan has always told him to listen to.

"Thank you, Master, but I…I'd feel better staying."

Even to his own ears he sounds defeated.

"Are you sure, Skywalker? The Senator departs for Naboo tomorrow morning. You won't have much time to change your mind between now and then."

Windu's pushiness is making Anakin uneasy. It's as if he's being set up for a trap, to indirectly reveal is attachment to Padmé. Anakin certainly doesn't put it past Windu; it seems like just the sort of thing he would do. "I'm sure, Master. I will see her off, but I can't go with her. I need to be here."

Windu nods in acceptance, possibly a little thwarted that he can't blame Anakin for anything this time, and moves away, leaving Anakin to his thoughts. Although the smell of ash and burnt flesh has long since disappeared, cold whispers as thick and as chillingly deathly as ash invade his mind – _what good is it staying with him _now_? The damage is done, boy, you failed your Master._

Ignoring the whispers do not make them go away, only retreat into the dark recesses of his mind where he can forget about them, at least for the time being.

Like the other nights, Anakin falls asleep grasping Obi-Wan's hand. When he wakes the next morning, he is confused to find his hand closing around thin air.

Obi-Wan, Anakin realises with a jolt that suddenly makes him want to cry, must have pulled away from him some time during the night.


	5. Purgation

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Four –  
Purgation

This is how it feels to be Obi-Wan Kenobi right now:

You are in pain. Terrible pain.

Physically, you don't know where one injury ends and another starts – your body has been transformed into a mass of fried nerve endings and trembling appendages; it hurts to move, breathe, even to think. Your left shoulder and right thigh are the worst, yet there is nothing you can do to ease the agony.

You are immobilised, and your connection to the Force is fleeting, at best.

Unconsciousness is not a release; neither is sedation. You are floating, trapped, in an abyss between wake and sleep and constantly in the throes of torment. It is your personal purgatory: the bitter smell of ash and burnt flesh haunts you, long after the scents are washed away to be replaced by the sickly sweetness of bacta. You know you are on a bed, you know you are being looked after, and you know there is a familiar presence beside you, but you also know something is very wrong.

Your memory is hazy, and your thoughts unclear.

There is a deep ache in your chest, an ache that you somehow know is not physical. It is an ache of despair, of loneliness, and betrayal. It is the ache that reminds you that someone very close to you has just shattered every ounce of your faith and trust in them. You don't know who, and you don't know why, and you don't know how – all you know is that the ache is there, and isn't leaving.

And this knowledge wounds you far more deeply and painfully than your injuries ever could.

This is how it feels to be Obi-Wan Kenobi, right now.

* * *

Above him, he sees two murky figures, one on either side. Voices infiltrate the fog and it is hard to keep his eyes open as he focuses on their conversation.

…_ow is he…?_

…_.sn't woken up yet…_

Mace.

_Anakin._

He thinks there is more, but he begins to slip away again. _No!_ His mind screams. _Listen!_ He fights the rising tide of exhaustion and pain, needing to get through – something tells him this is important, and he needs to be awake for this.

Frustration seeps in. He can't move, can't talk – he can't do a _thing_.

…_Skywalker, why did Obi-Wan face Dooku alone?_

And in that instance, everything rushes back. He doesn't know why he does it, only that the Force and every fibre of his being is screaming at him to defend his Padawan, even now, even after what Anakin has done – _say something, anything!_

"An'kin…fell…"

Has he said it aloud? He must have done. To himself, he sounds hoarse, weak, and he can't focus on anything except the mind-twisting agony that sears his shoulder and thigh, radiating through the rest of his body. His eyelids refuse to open and his head feels like a Bantha is sitting on it, and although he hears Anakin's concerned 'Master?' somewhere at his right side he ignores it and faces the blurry blob to his left he _thinks_ is Mace Windu, and struggles to form words.

"H'd no choice…h'd t'keep goin'…Dooku…" he slurs pathetically, hoping his excuse – _lie_ – makes sense, that Mace will understand and not take Anakin away before the Council and be assessed for his actions, and subsequently expelled from the Order. Anakin _can't_ be taken before the Council. Obi-Wan will try to prevent this for as long as he can. He needs to talk to him first, needs to understand, and he will do it however he can. He will defend his Padawan – even as he suffers for Anakin's actions, even if it means he has to lie.

Because he is his Master, and he has a duty to his Padawan to protect him, especially from himself. No matter what.

He has never resented it more.

The effort has been too much for his body, which is screaming in protest, and everything fades out again, replaced by murky nightmares filled with blood red beams, lightning, pain, and plagued by the forever present smell of ash.

* * *

Obi-Wan feels something strange when he briefly comes to, in what he suspects may be the middle of the night. His right hand is trapped in something, but it isn't painful, not like the rest of his body. It's almost…soothing. Sluggishly he drags his thumb across it, and realises with a start that it is someone else's hand. His eyes ease open and sting from being closed for so long, and the blurry image at his left side slowly comes into focus.

His throat tight, Obi-Wan watches his young Padawan sleep. The pain is numb enough for him to think more clearly; he wonders how sedated he has been. It is a very peaceful scene, and strangely beautiful. He can't remember the last time he saw Anakin look so young and innocent, even in his sleep. Anakin's Padawan braid is tickling his fingers; if he moves his hand a little, he can almost brush his cheek.

Part of him is comforted that Anakin is beside him, holding onto his hand.

Another part of him is recoiling, telling him to get away before he can get hurt again.

For a long time, Obi-Wan doesn't dare move; for an even longer time, his mind inadvertently replays everything it remembers, over and over again, and he can't stop it.

_I need you! I can't take Dooku alone!_

_I don't care!_

Suddenly, he doesn't want to be touched, least of all by Anakin.

Obi-Wan turns his head to the side, and pulls his hand away.


	6. Cold, Cold Heart

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Five –  
Cold, Cold Heart

When Anakin comes back from breakfast – which he only picked at, not really hungry – he notices that Obi-Wan is awake, and propped up against two pillows into a sitting position. His left arm is cradled in a sling, and his right leg is elevated. Relief, and fear, grips Anakin's chest as he moves closer slowly, giving Obi-Wan time to sense his presence through the Force; Obi-Wan doesn't react, and only continues staring down at his hands in his lap without really seeing them.

"You're awake," Anakin says softly. "How are you feeling?"

Finally his Master looks up, and Anakin is floored by the haunted presence in his normally lively blue-green eyes. "Well, I've definitely been better," Obi-Wan says, his voice still hoarse. It is a typical Obi-Wan Kenobi response – except that the usual light-hearted tone, or dry drawl, is completely absent, and Anakin is left with the feeling that this person before him is a completely stranger. "How long was I out for?"

"Just over a week." Anakin feels like yelling in frustration when a dark and uneasy silence settles over them. He is desperate to do something, anything to show his Master that he's been worried and that he cares about him – anything to ease his own guilt. "Do you need anything?" he asks. "If you're hungry I can get you something to eat."

"No, I'm fine."

He hates that dead tone his Master is speaking with. It's unnatural, coming from him, and Anakin suppresses an involuntary shiver.

"Are you sure? I'll be quick. Do you want to be moved someplace quieter? Or –"

"The healers spoke with me not too long ago," Obi-Wan says, looking back down at his hands. "They told me…" He trails off, but the sentence completes itself for Anakin.

…_may be in chronic pain for the rest of his life…likely he will walk with a limp…nerve and bone damage…_

It takes every ounce of his willpower to not turn and run out of there to flee the shame that hits him like an icy wave in the Force. Slowly, Anakin follows Obi-Wan's gaze to his lap. Obi-Wan's hands, although calloused from his years weilding a lightsaber, could have passed off for an aristocrat's hands, elegant and steady, but now, as Anakin watches in trepidation and increasing horror, there are fine tremors running through them, creating the illusion of constant electrocution. _Nerve damage_, the voice in the back of his mind hisses. _Muscle spasms_. A fleeting image burns in his mind: Obi-Wan, struggling to find a firm grip on his lightsaber, as his enemies close in, unable to defend himself – a crippled man who had once been one of the finest swordsmen in the Jedi Order. The image stays in his mind long after it fades from his sight, and Anakin feels sick. It shouldn't be like this at all.

"You already knew, didn't you."

Anakin wrenches his eyes from Obi-Wan's trembling hands, his thoughts broken. The tone is not accusatory, just defeated, and for some reason this makes Anakin irritated, even as he realises, guiltily, that he has no idea what to say.

Anakin's silence is enough of a confession for Obi-Wan, who turns his head aside. "Anakin, I'd…I'd like to be left alone for a little while."

"But –"

"Please. Just – leave me alone."

* * *

"Will you be escorting me to Naboo?" Padmé asks, not long before she is due to depart. They are alone, and for this Anakin is grateful. No nosy Jedi Masters poking their noses into his business, least of all Windu (who he was sure would be here, just to spy on him). He takes a moment to admire her before answering, taking in her simple outfit that accentuates her figure. His eyes linger on her loose hair which falls in delicate curls around her face and down past her shoulders; he longs to run his fingers through her hair, and entwine the curls around his hand, and never let go.

"Anakin?"

He snaps out of his daydream, and forces himself to look into her eyes, knowing that this is his last chance to run away from it all. It is so tempting; no-one would miss him, surely. Windu would certainly be pleased, as would many other Masters. And Obi-Wan…perhaps Obi-Wan does't want him either. _Just – leave me alone_. The words still have not left him. How easy it would be to take them to heart, and just leave? He could do it now, just by telling Padmé that he's coming with her, and then he'd never have to go back, not to face the Council, or the war, and especially not Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan, who is now lying in a medical centre because of Anakin.

"No," Anakin tells her shortly, closing his eyes, "I'm staying here with Obi-Wan."

Padmé seems to approve of this decision, though somehow still manages to look the slightest bit let down. Or perhaps he is just imagining it. "That's good. He needs you here. I'll miss you," she adds.

A short awkward silence fills the air. "You're disappointed in me," Anakin finally says.

Padmé doesn't deny this; her silent acknowledgement is confirmation enough to make Anakin cringe. "Anakin…" she starts, "I didn't say anything before, because of everything that's happened, but I owe you an explanation. Will you hear me out?"

Anakin lets her continue with a slight nod, ignoring the dread that is settling in the pit of his stomach.

"Your love for me has made you selfish."

Well, Anakin thinks, that was blunt.

Stupidly, he wonders if she's been taking lessons from Windu.

When his mind decides to work properly, he thinks, _selfish?_ Is that was his love for Padmé has done to him? How can she think that, after everything he's done for her, after everything he's sacrificed for her? _No it hasn't!_ he childishly and angrily wants to protest. In fact, he nearly does, except he is too defeated and too weighed down by his burdens and guilt to even convince himself of it. "I guess," he instead half-admits, eyes downcast, "but I'm trying, Padmé, I really am – I can be better, I'll do my duty from now on –"

He knows he sounds pathetic; like some immature adolescent who thinks they can get their parents to agree with anything if they tell them what they want to hear. Padmé is all too familiar with this method – from her years in the Senate and immersion in politics, she knows every trick in the book and more. She is shaking her head, and her face is etched with lines of sadness. Or pity. Anakin hopes it's the former – her pity is the last thing he wants right now. "Oh, Ani…" she murmurs, "It's not just you. I, too, have been selfish, in wanting you all to myself regardless of the consequences. I love you, with all my heart, but if I had to choose between you and my people, I would choose them, no matter how much it would hurt otherwise. It hurts now, just thinking about it. Much longer, and I…I don't think I'd have the strength. Can you honestly say the same?"

"Yes!" Anakin insists, but knows that he doesn't believe it – he is fighting a battle he is quickly losing.

Padmé doesn't either. "Can you really?" she questions doubtfully.

"I can do better. I'll prove it to you," he insists again, this time more weakly, hoping his answer will placate Padmé.

It doesn't. "Don't you see, that's my point!" she snaps, patience lost. "Listen to yourself! You aren't going to be doing your duty for duty's sake, you'd be doing it for me, and that isn't right! You're incapable of putting your duty before me, and you know it! You couldn't last week."

Why – _why_ – must she bring that up now? He hears the rest of the sentence so clearly, without her even having to project the words through the Force:

_You couldn't last week, and look at what your actions have brought about!_

An unbidden image of Obi-Wan lying deathly still in the hangar floor, surrounded by the smell of ash and death, not moving – not _breathing_ – fills Anakin's mind.

_You couldn't last week, and just think about how much higher the cost could have been!_

"You said you'd prove that you can do better – you've already proven you can't let go! I won't keep leading you down this path, just as I can't follow you down it. Never doubt that I love you…but this, between us, it can never be. Not at the expense of yourself, and your duty to the Jedi, and not of Obi-Wan. I can't keep coming between the two of you."

_Stop it, stop it,_ his mind sobs, not only because she's killing him with every word, but because everything that she is saying is horribly and damnably true. _Shut up, just shut up, don't do this to me!_ "What are you saying?" he says, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"I'm saying the same thing I told you that night in Naboo."

Suddenly his hands are wrapped around her arms, gripping her tightly, and he doesn't care when she winces. "Why? Why are you doing this?" he snarls, his fingers digging into her soft skin. "I went back for _you_, how can you –"

"Anakin, stop it, you're hurting me!"

Anakin drops her as if burned and stares at his hands in horror. "I'm s-sorry," he stutters, then unexpectedly, and to his utter mortification, begins to cry.

"Oh, Ani, please don't cry…" He feels Padmé's hands on his arms, and her voice tense with sorrow, as if she, too, is on the cusp of tears, and he can't keep in his feelings any longer –

"Obi-Wan hates me," he splutters, not realising what he's let out in his most unguarded moment until he repeats it mentally. _Obi-Wan hates me._ _Obi-Wan hates me! _He doesn't have time to analyse this when he hears Padmé's shocked tone.

"Hates you? No, Obi-Wan could never –"

"He woke up earlier, and he told me to go away."

She's frowning, torn between astonishment and disbelief. "He said that?"

"Not exactly," Anakin concedes, furiously wiping the tears from his face and eyes with the sleeve of his robe. "But he might as well have. He asked to be left alone, and it's obvious he doesn't want me near him. I could feel it."

"That doesn't mean he hates you. He needs time to come to terms with…everything."

Anakin knows that 'everything' means 'your betrayal'.

"You'll work it out between the two of you. You have to believe that. But only if you accept that I can never come first for you, just as you can never come first for me."

Her words are like a trigger, sparking the thoughts and feelings he has tried to force down. In a flash, thoughts of Obi-Wan are removed from his mind to be swiftly replaced by Padmé. "But – the Arena –" he manages to force out, and can't explain himself any more than that.

_I'm not afraid to die. I've been dying a little each day since you came back into my life._

_What are you talking about?_

_I love you._

_You love me? I thought we had decided not to fall in love. That we would be forced to live a lie, and that it would destroy our lives._

_I think our lives are about to be destroyed anyway. I truly, deeply, love you…and before we die, I want you to know._

"The Arena was different," she says tenderly, and regretfully. "We thought we were going to die. Now, we have a war to live and fight for, and more than ever before we are required to do our duty. You'll fight your battles on the battlefield, and I'll fight mine in the Senate. My love for you will never go away…I just know how to let go. I'm so sorry. It's killing me, Anakin, but I'm _doing_ it. And you need to do the same, but not because I'm asking you. Do it for the Jedi, Anakin, and do it for Obi-Wan."

_You owe him that much_, the taunting silence seems to add. His heart has grown heavier and colder with every word she has said. In the back of his mind, he wonders if she has been rehearsing this speech all week. It's certainly impressive enough.

"For _yourself_."

After what feels like an eternity, he nods. Padmé breathes deeply and moves closer to him, and the two wrap their arms around each other. "I love you," he whispers into her soft curls. "I was going to ask you to marry me, you know."

"I would have said yes," she whispers, her affectionate tone laced with loss and bitter regrets. Anakin grips her a little tighter, terrified to let go – because he knows that, when he does, she will leave, taking with her the only source of comfort he has held onto this past week.

"If I'd done my duty," Anakin says a moment later, finishing her sentence.

"Yes."

"If things had been different…if I'd –"

Padmé pulls away, her face pinched. It takes Anakin half a second to place her expression: it is the look someone gets when they are about to cry. "Please don't do this to yourself, Anakin," she pleads, her voice strained. "Don't think about the ifs. It's too…"

Too what? Too cruel?

"Let's just move on, and make the best of what we have," she finishes lamely. "I'm not going to shut you out of my life, not now…we just can't live it for each other. There's so much more out there than just us and our desires. Don't ask me to be that self-centered. Don't ask that of yourself. Love is not supposed to be like that."

She sounds so brave, and she is holding her tears back so spectacularly that it makes Anakin want to cry them for her. He hates every word that comes from her mouth, but because it's _her_ he listens. She looks so beautiful, even now with her eyes bloodshot, exhausted, and her skin pale – everything about her is perfect. Right here, right now, Padmé Naberrie Amidala stands before him as the Queen she was and the Senator she was born to be.

He cannot fight this angel, although every cell in his body yells and violently lashes out against what she says – _you're wrong! I did everything for you – I abandoned Obi-Wan for you! – and now you're throwing me away? How dare you, how DARE you, you can't do this, I won't let you! I chose you instead – I CHOSE YOU!_

But for the first time that he can remember in his life, he is too tired to even let it show. "Why must you be so rational?" Anakin murmurs instead, hiding the rage behind his exhaustion. With Padmé, he knows there is a boundary; she can only take so much of his anger, and he will not release it on her.

She smiles sadly. "I'm a politician, I have to be," she answers.

At this, Anakin has to give a little chuckle, but the tone quickly sobers again.

"I am sorry."

Her apology falls on deaf ears. "When will we see each other again?"

"Whenever we can. I promise. I'll be at Naboo for a week or so, and then I'll go back to Coruscant. We'll never be too far away from each other."

After this, she leaves quickly, but not before capturing his lips in a short, bittersweet kiss. It lasts both a lifetime and a second; so cruelly beautiful. He pours as much of his emotion into their parting as he dares, all of his grief, guilt, and anger, unchecked desire, and she, in turn, accepts it. It is over far too quickly, and he is left feeling like someone has just amputated a limb when she all but runs into her starship, not looking back even once.

He watches the sky, his heart cold, long after her starship has disappeared from the atmosphere, and hardly notices when day slips into night. An insect scurries about his feet, round and round in circles, and Anakin looks down at it disdainfully. He feels his body quiver in the anger he has refused to let go of; he brings up his foot and smashes down with his heel, crushing the insignificant creature beneath his boot, and grinds it into the dirt, pretending not to hear its pathetic little dying scream ripple in the Force.

* * *

When Anakin finally builds up enough courage to back and see Obi-Wan, it is well into the night. He lingers for a good ten minutes outside the ward, wondering if he should go in or wait until tomorrow, or if Obi-Wan is even awake, and if he is then what he should say, until Master Yoda opens the door and whacks him in the shins with his gimmer stick. Yelping and rubbing his abused legs, Anakin shoots a glare after the troll's retreating figure and goes in.

"Master, how do you feel?"

"A little better, thank you."

Anakin does not think it appropriate right now to tell him he doesn't look it. Sweat is plastering his hair to his forehead and his beard is overgrown, and his eyes – _Force_, his eyes are so haunted and dull that he can't look into them for too long without his mind creating the phantom smell of ash. There is so much he wants to say and ask, so of course he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. "Why did you lie for me, Master?"

By the time he realises what he has said, it is too late to take back the words; all he can settle for now is mentally slapping himself for speaking without thinking. As usual.

He feels rather than sees Obi-Wan's eyes narrow. "From a certain point of view, I didn't lie. If my memory serves me correctly, you _did_ technically 'fall' from the LAAT/i."

Anakin has never been good at picking up his Master's sarcasm, but this is as obvious as it can get. He flinches but still faces Obi-Wan defiantly. He needs to hear this, he needs to _know_ because he can't stand it otherwise, wondering why Obi-Wan defended him, even after what he did. He wants to know why his Master is so perfect, all the damn time. "Then why did you make Master Windu think –"

"I'm tired, Anakin," he interrupts irritably. "Can we talk later? I'm not thinking very clearly right now."

This request simultaneously reassures him and fills him with dread; it means that there will be a later. It also means that they will have to talk, _really_ talk, and there is little question as to what it will be about. "I – all right. Do you want me to stay?" _Please let me stay_.

"…No," Obi-Wan says softly after a pregnant pause. "I'd prefer it if you didn't. You should get some rest. Goodnight, Anakin."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, and hiding the stab of hurt that hits his chest when Obi-Wan closes his eyes and turns his face away, Anakin mutters, "Goodnight, Master," and leaves as quickly as he can without making it look like he is actually trying to run away. Later that night, lying in his own tent, tossing and turning and twisting his braid around his fingers tightly, he realises with a sinking, painful heart that Obi-Wan has not called him 'Padawan' once.


	7. Ephemeral

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Six –  
Ephemeral

Many hours have passed since Obi-Wan told Anakin, in not so harsh words, to go away. It is now nearing nightfall, and Anakin hasn't come back yet. Obi-Wan lifts his trembling right hand to nervously stroke his beard; gut clenched in dread, he desperately hopes that his Padawan hasn't left off with Padmé for Naboo – and that in the all too likely even that he has, then it wasn't because of what he said earlier.

_Just – leave me alone._

He doesn't think he can handle abandonment twice.

Although not in terrible pain, as the healers have been considerate enough to numb the main injuries, Obi-Wan's only comfort the whole day, in his cot, were the deep throbbing aches that permeate his body from his shoulder and thigh. Not much of a comfort then, he considers as he shifts slightly against the pillows, wincing when a sharp jab of pain races down his leg.

_There is a high chance that you will live with chronic pain from your injuries_, he remembers the healer saying this morning, reading off a list hurriedly and impersonally, as soon as he woke up and just before Anakin came in. _Similarly, there is the possibility of a permanent limp, due to the bone injuries you sustained. The tremors in your hands are caused by the nerve damage from electrocution. We've healed them as best we can, but it's quite likely the tremors are permanent. I'm very sorry, Master Jedi._

Obi-Wan hardly acknowledged him. Even now, as he recites the injuries and strokes his beard, the words don't seem real. It's as if they are someone else's injuries, not his, and he can't think about them any more than that. He is glad that he has had the day more or less to himself. He doesn't want Anakin's pity right now, nor does he want his Padawan to see him in such a pathetic state.

And still, he can't access the Force, a lingering effect from his sedation and injuries – which means he can't meditate, which means he can't completely accept his injuries, which means he can't release his emotions, which means they are steadily building up inside, and this is gives him a Bad Feeling. He doesn't know what else to do with this accumulating emotion – certainly, he's not feeling anything right _now_, but _later_…He shudders. He's grateful that his mind seems to be in shock. He stuns himself at how _calmly_ he is assessing himself.

No, not calmly. That isn't right. Detachedly. None of it is real yet. It's like some horrid nightmare – except there is no chance of waking.

Later, he suspects, he will not be so numb to his own emotions.

Now, more than ever, he wants his Padawan by his side. At the same time, he doesn't. Some nasty little voice in the back of his mind whispers _of course you don't…this is all his fault anyway…_

_It's not_, another voice counters , _Dooku did this to me, not Anakin –_

_Anakin should have been there to cover you! Anakin deserted you, left you to your death!_

He hates these thoughts, and he knows – fearfully – that if he isn't drawn out of them soon, they will devour him. He wants to go back to the Temple on Coruscant – the only reason he hasn't been transported there by now was because of his injuries. He despises being trapped on Geonosis; the atmosphere, every day, thickens with the presence of death. Even without the Force Obi-Wan can feel it – he just about can smell it. Tomorrow, the healers promised earlier, transport could be arranged where he would receive proper treatment at the Temple. For now, he had to make do with his small bed in the corner of the Geonosian medical ward setup in the middle of the barren land, watching hundreds of clones and Jedi being brought in every day, with blood running down their bodies and limbs blown off.

The shuffling _tap-tap_ of a gimmer stick is a welcome sound, drawing him from his thoughts before they can take a turn for the worse, and he looks up just as Yoda crawls into the chair at the right side of his bed, taking his time to settle in and cross his legs.

"Good evening, Master Yoda," Obi-Wan says, bowing his head. Yoda 'hmph's in reply and clasps his clawed hands at the top of his gimmer stick.

"Much grief, this gives me, to see you so sad," Yoda finally says.

Obi-Wan sighs. "I take it you have heard?"

"Mmm."

Obi-Wan stays quiet, unsure of what to say. He is thankful that the Grandmaster isn't going to talk about his possible permanent limp – it's the last thing he wants to think about, yet he knows it is inevitable.

"Make you my soup, I will," Yoda announces, either not noticing or pointedly ignoring Obi-Wan when he cringes in horror. "Speed your healing and make you strong again, it will."

Suddenly annoyed, Obi-Wan frowns and tries to cross his arms over his body the way he always does when he needs to be defensive, and hisses when he tries to move his right arm. "What for?" he asks darkly, trying to ignore the burning ache that throbs his down his arm from his shoulder. "I'm crippled. There's nothing to heal."

"This talk, cease!" Yoda orders, lifting his gimmer stick threateningly. "Hmph. Hit you, I would, if a place on your body, injured, was not."

"How considerate of you," Obi-Wan snaps – then immediately realises what he has said and to whom he has said it, and gapes in horror. "I – I'm sorry, Master Yoda," he gasps, mortified, "I don't – I don't know what has come over me. Please forgive my disrespect."

Yoda only breathes deeply, and his ears droop down sadly. "In a dangerous place you are, Obi-Wan. Like yourself, you are not. Release these dark emotions of yours into the Force, you must. Consume you they will, otherwise."

"I know, Master, and I'm trying –"

"_There is no try!_"

"I _can't_ reach the Force!" Obi-Wan has had enough, and drags his right hand through his auburn hair, distastefully noting the grease build-up from lack of washing. "My connection is fleeting at best, and I can't hold onto it long enough for release. I have to wait for the sedation to wear off." He helplessly sinks back against his pillows and lowers his head, resisting the urge to hide his face in his hands. "I don't know what to do."

"Your Padawan perhaps can help you, until your connection re-established is."

"You mean he _perhaps_ _can help me_ if he hasn't taken off for Naboo with Senator Amidala."

It takes Obi-Wan far longer than it should have to discern that he sounds snide and bitter and envious – he can feel them rising in his chest, slowly taking over rational thought. These are not foreign emotions; just unwelcome ones where he doesn't understand are coming from. Swallowing, he flinches away from the end of the gimmer stick jabbing dangerously near his face, and holds off a shiver; it seems no matter how old he is, Yoda will always possess that uncanny ability to make him feel like a naughty Padawan learner who deserves a whack across the shins.

"Unbecoming of you, this jealousy is!" Yoda snaps. "Need this, you do not. When back on Coruscant you are, release these emotions you will. Hinder you in the war, they will, if careful you are not."

"You still expect me to fight? Forgive me, Master Yoda, but you seem to have forgotten that I'm _crippled_."

"Hit you, I shall, if keep this talk up you do!" Yoda heaves a sigh, and Obi-Wan thinks that the little green troll looks every single one of his eight hundred years; tired, and burdened. "A cripple you are not, Obi-Wan. Recover, you will. Slowly, yes, but fight you will, again. Your connection with the Force, not lost, just misplaced. Be patient. Trust, you require."

"Trust in whom?"

"In yourself. In the Force, and in the Jedi Code. And in your Padawan."

In Anakin? Perhaps last week, he would have accepted this without a second though. Now, however… "How can I?" Obi-Wan whispers, more to himself than to Yoda. _How can I trust him, now, after…?_

In a startling flash, he realises – this must be exactly how Qui-Gon felt when Obi-Wan himself deserted him, so long ago in what feels like another life, and a breath catches in his throat when the memory hits home.

_Melida/Daan_.

"More troubles you than your injuries, hmm? Like to tell me what on your mind is, hmm? Listen, I will."

He doesn't _want_ it to be Master Yoda to listen to him. He wants Qui-Gon – he _needs_ Qui-Gon's advice and help right now. Over the past decade he has prayed for his old Master's guidance too many times to count, _here_ and _now_ he has never wanted and needed it more. "With all due respect, Master," Obi-Wan says after a pause, "I think I need to sort through my issues first to make sense of them before I share them."

"Mmm. Very well. A wise decision, this is." The Grandmaster falls into a contemplative silence, his yellow eyes large and unblinking as they examine Obi-Wan. "Late it is," Yoda says. "Required elsewhere I am."

"Master –" Obi-Wan starts, then breaks off, having no idea how to put what he wants and needs to say into words.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you," is what he settles for in the end, knowing that Yoda will understand the simple word conveys much, much more.

Yoda bows his head in acceptance, but still says, "Your gratitude, required is not. Arrived sooner, I should have."

"Nevertheless, Master, you have it. You saved my life."

"Hmph. Fought well, you did, with all the grace and beauty of a Jedi."

Obi-Wan has never been good at receiving compliments – and in the present context, he is certainly not going to start. His shoulder burns, the constant reminder of his failure against Dooku. "Not well enough."

"A master swordsman, Count Dooku is. Too hard on yourself you are."

"But –"

"No more of these thoughts tonight, Obi-Wan – only grief will they bring you. On the present, focus. Tomorrow, to Coruscant you will go. May the Force be with you."

"And also with you, Master Yoda."

Yoda slides off his chair and shuffles away, his gimmer stick tapping on the floor. Obi-Wan watches on broodingly, struck with an image of himself limping around the Temple with a stick just like Yoda's. Blanching, his hand travels to his thigh on its own accord, brushing against the bandages and bacta patches. How would even be able to use a cane, with his shoulder? Dooku was smart, Obi-Wan thinks numbly. With his injuries, it would be impossible to make use of a simple walking aid. Would he even be able to hold a lightsaber again, with his hands?

His darkening thoughts are interrupted by Yoda again, who has turned around. "Outside, waiting, your Padawan has been, for ten minutes," the troll announces. "On my way out, like me to hit him for you, would you?"

Perhaps he is imagining things, but Obi-Wan thinks the Grandmaster sounds…eager. Eyes widening, he stumbles over his words as Yoda leaves swiftly: "Oh, um, that really isn't necess–"

"_Ouch!_"

"Hmph!"

Anakin appears a moment later, scowling behind him as Yoda hobbles away and out of sight, and is rubbing his shins. Part of him wants to laugh, but he doesn't think Anakin would appreciate that right now, and instead only leans back against his pillows and focuses on his Padawan. Although too tired to show it, he is certainly relieved upon seeing Anakin, now at least reassured that he hasn't deserted him for Senator Amidala.

Again.

"Master, how do you feel?"

"A little better, thank you."

Of course, he knows he most certainly doesn't look it. He hasn't trimmed his beard for almost two weeks now, and he feels sweat glistening on his forehead and sticking to his hair, not only from the heat but from the dull ache of pain that isn't leaving him. And he is tired, so tired. He can only imagine what he must look like to Anakin – nothing short of death warmed up.

"Why did you lie for me, Master?"

Of all the things his Padawan could have asked, it has to be _that_, and Obi-Wan is not prepared to answer it yet. Irritation swiftly sets back in, a culmination of emotions he has not let get the better of him for many, many years, and his eyes narrow on their own accord. It doesn't feel like _him_ when he says, coldly, "From a certain point of view, I didn't lie. If my memory serves me correctly, you _did_ technically 'fall' from the LAAT/i."

He doesn't feel good about himself when Anakin flinches, and wishes immediately he could take back the words. He must be far more tired than he thought to have let his frustration take over like this. Regardless, Anakin appears undeterred and keeps pressing. "Then why did you make Master Windu think –"

"I'm tired, Anakin," he interrupts, unable to have this conversation now, of all times. He hasn't even had the chance to think through it himself. "We can talk later. I'm not thinking very clearly right now."

What a pathetic excuse, he thinks with disgust. He sounds so distant, and the worst part is, he doesn't even mean to be. He wants to apologise, except that annoyed part of him, that part of himself that he has always disliked and that is steadily gaining control, decides that he wouldn't really mean it anyway, so there's no point.

"I – All right. Do you want me to stay?"

_Yes, please don't go_, he desperately wants to say. The only thing stopping him is not just the pain that has flared back to life, a constant reminder that he went up against Dooku _alone_. By all means, it should be, and he certainly has every right to feel that way. Later, perhaps he will, but not right now. No – now it is the simple shameful fact that he can't bear the thought of his Padawan pitying him by his bedside, and being around him, _seeing_ him, when he's so weak and dismal, a mere shadow of his former self.

Even if it _is_ partly Anakin's fault for –

"No," Obi-Wan says, cutting off his own thought before it can be completed. "I'd prefer it if you didn't. You should get some rest. Goodnight, Anakin."

Quick and impersonal, so he doesn't let his emotions seep through, because he knows he'll start crying if that happens, and he has made it a point to never cry before Anakin. He hates the wounded look that shrouds his Padawan's face at his words, hates himself even more for causing it, and absolutely _loathes_ the part that snarks, _he deserves it_, because that is not Obi-Wan Kenobi at all, but rather a manifestation of the dangerous emotions flooding his system that he can't release. He closes his eyes and turns his head away to blot out the view, but Anakin's expression is burned onto his retinas and isn't fading.

"Goodnight, Master," is the muttered response, and then Anakin is gone.

All night long, Obi-Wan lies awake in his bed, unable to let sleep claim him.

* * *

The journey to Coruscant takes longer than Obi-Wan remembers it to, and for the first few days he does not see Anakin once. Whether this is because he is avoiding Anakin, or vice versa, the outcome is the same, and he isn't sure if he's grateful or sad for it. They had departed in the morning – just as well, too, for the Geonosian medical centre desperately needs more available beds for the ever increasing number of wounded soldiers. Tentatively, in his solitude in his bunk, he makes use of applying the bacta patches given to him earlier, and takes the better part of half an hour to figure out how to ease into new robes without screaming every time he moves his arm and leg. Sedation has worn off, and his wounds feel raw and tender, sensitive to the slightest movement or touch.

He is startled when Anakin comes up from behind him and helps him slip his burning arm through the sleeve of his undergarments, and immediately tries to pull away, embarrassed that his apprentice has to see him struggling with such a menial task. He is stopped when Anakin holds him back gently, with a grasp far more tender than he could have imagined his violent apprentice ever possessing, leaving him no choice but to avert his gaze and let his Padawan help him into his clothes, thankfully in total silence. With his injuries, he cannot pull away, and he does't have it in him to tell Anakin to stop this bittersweet power play. What is Anakin hoping to gain from this? The upper hand? He's always had that. It is a long and tedious task, and Obi-Wan is grateful for both when Anakin finishes and the shadows of the cold quarters that hide his burning face.

"We need to talk, Anakin," he declares softly when the awkward silence stretches out for far longer than he should have let it. "I think you know what about."

Anakin crosses his arms over his body and sits as far away from Obi-Wan as possible. "Why did you lie for me?" he demands again.

This time, Obi-Wan decides to tell him the truth. "Because I need to hear this from you, before I decide whether or not to tell the Council."

The young man before him looks away. "I'm s-"

"Don't apologise if you don't mean it, Anakin," Obi-Wan cuts him off. He _does_ want an apology, but he has had enough of his Padawan's knee-jerk responses to last a lifetime. His mind and heart crave the apology from Anakin that isn't one of his quick, meaningless ones which Obi-Wan has, over the years, allowed him to get away with, every single time. Perhaps he is being selfish – but he needs to know that Anakin actually regrets, and actually cares, and wants far more than Anakin's generic apology.

He wants it to be real.

Drawing out of his thoughts, he notices Anakin hasn't spoken for a while. "Anakin?" he prompts.

"I love her," Anakin whispers, his eyes clouding over.

It shouldn't come as much of a surprise, for Obi-Wan has suspected this all along – what other reason would Anakin jump out of a speeding LAAT at the most crucial point in the battle and leave his Master to fend for himself? – and yet, the confession still hits him like a punch to the gut. "You _can't_," Obi-Wan says. "I've told you before, you have a commitment to the Jedi Order, and a duty to –"

A sudden flare in Anakin's eyes makes Obi-Wan stop, startled, but the look is gone faster than it appeared. "Duty," Anakin spits, resentment laced in his tone. "Duty! That's all that everyone ever cares about, isn't it!"

"No, but it _is_ what everyone requires of you. There is large difference –"

"I needed to make sure she was all right!" Anakin cries, as if hoping to justify himself before Obi-Wan. Leaping up, he stands before Obi-Wan like a blaze of desperation, and briefly Obi-Wan can feel a ripple of _something_ in the Force, coming from his Padawan. "I couldn't just _leave_ her – I have a duty to _her!_"

_But you_ could _just leave me_, is what he most certainly does not want to say. Their conversation is quickly dissolving into a shouting match, and no amount of negotiation will calm Anakin down now. Obi-Wan inhales deeply before continuing, trying to centre himself as best he can without relying on the Force. "You have a duty to this war –"

"– Her safety was _my_ responsibility –"

"– She is her own responsibility! You had a responsibility, just as I had one, to the war. You betrayed me and the Order by your actions, and your inability to see that troubles me the worst of all! Dooku –"

"_Her life is more important than Dooku's!_"

_You had a duty to me!_ is the shout that dies on his lips when those horrid words explode around the room, leaving his Padawan shaking and breathing heavily with rage. Blinking, as if he isn't sure of what Anakin shouted, Obi-Wan exclaims, "And mine _isn't?_"

Anakin either doesn't hear him or refuses to answer when he turns and stomps out of the room, and Obi-Wan's "_Anakin –!_" is lost as the door is slammed shut behind the young man.

Of course, it is impossible for Obi-Wan to run after him.

The ache in his chest that has been present since his delirious moment of consciousness only a few days prior deepens, and Obi-Wan slumps back against his bed, his mind numb. _He didn't mean it, he couldn't have meant it –_

Of course he couldn't have meant it. He was being defensive about something, and that _something _is troubling him, very deeply. Left to the solitude and company of his thoughts and his pain, which has returned tenfold, Obi-Wan can finally place the emotions Anakin broadcasted through the Force: confusion, and hurt. Anger, but not just at Obi-Wan. Loss. Something is very, very wrong, and Obi-Wan has no idea what. But he is determined to find out, and help Anakin before it gets too late – even as he suffers for Anakin's actions, and continues to get hurt.

Because he is his Master, and he has a duty to his Padawan to protect him. Especially from himself. No matter what.

His own issues can wait.


	8. Shadows

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Seven –  
Shadows

Anakin is avoiding Obi-Wan.

Since departure, Anakin has made sure that he always has a reason to not go near his Master's quarters – talking with the pilots, playing sabaac with other passengers; really, just doing meaningless tasks that stop him from thinking about everything and give him an excuse to not see Obi-Wan.

Childish, yes, but Anakin prefers to think of it as self-preservation.

Eventually, he runs out of reasons. They will be arriving in Coruscant in a few days, possibly less since they seem to be making good time, and he knows he has to face Obi-Wan sooner or later. He wonders why he hasn't been called before now for a lecture – regardless, would rather be in control, choosing his own time. Besides, it's not as though Obi-Wan can hunt him down and corner him. He waits outside the secluded quarters for a long time, going over his excuses for _that day_, but he can't get his thoughts together. None of them make sense, and they're all merging into one another. There's no point in this.

He begins to turn, but freezes when he hears a muffled groan on the other side of the door. Hesitantly he palms the door open, risking a peek inside, and feels his heart jump jerkily at the sight that greets him.

Bare-chested and half-hidden in the shadows, Obi-Wan is sitting up in his bed with one arm through an undergarment sleeve and sweat glistening on his forehead. The scene is so pitiful that Anakin almost leaves, unwilling to embarrass his Master for having trouble with putting on clothes. _Almost_. Guilt he doesn't want to be feeling floods his senses, even as he passes through the door silently and comes up behind Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan lets out a startled gasp as Anakin's hands take his arm and slips it through the other sleeve, and immediately tries to pull away. Anakin holds him back with a hold far gentler than he would have thought himself capable of, and Obi-Wan…just _gives up_, and _lets _Anakin dress him. There is no struggle, no verbal objection – this isn't Obi-Wan Kenobi. Perhaps his injuries are hurting him too much, Anakin rationalises, and he can't actually _do_ anything. Anakin can't think of any other reason for Obi-Wan allowing something so humiliating to happen to him.

Anakin tries to keep it as impersonal as possible, sitting as far away as he can without being too far as to not be able to help Obi-Wan. Carefully making sure his fingers don't brush across skin, he simply dresses Obi-Wan slowly and cautiously, taking care not to move his left arm or touch his right leg. He pretends he can't see Obi-Wan's trembling hands or feel the heat from his burning face, or the embarrassment echoing through the Force. He says nothing, for he has nothing worth saying. It seems Obi-Wan doesn't either.

It takes a while to finish, not that Anakin minds – occupied by the trivial task and guiltily revelling in Obi-Wan's submission and enjoying the power he wields, he doesn't have to let himself get lost in his tumultuous thoughts. Together, they sit in total silence, Obi-Wan hiding in the shadows and Anakin moving as far away as he can on the bed.

"We need to talk, Anakin," Obi-Wan says softly when the awkward silence stretches out for far longer than it should have. "I think you know what about."

Ah, so _here _is the long-awaited lecture, Anakin thinks, and crosses his arms over his body. He doesn't want a lecture. He doesn't want Obi-Wan's disappointment, not so soon after Padmé's rejection. "Why did you lie for me?" he demands. If there is going to be a lecture, he decides, it will start on his terms.

"Because I need to hear this from you, before I decide whether or not to tell the Council."

It certainly isn't want Anakin expected. He doesn't even know what he was expecting. He looks away quickly, mind racing. Obi-Wan is giving him the benefit of doubt. It's the only explanation. "I'm s-" he starts, unable to stop the reflex apology falling from his lips. He doesn't quite know what he's saying sorry for, but it's always a good place to start –

"Don't apologise if you don't mean it, Anakin."

And this, Anakin realises, is the crux of the issue. He _wasn't_ going to mean it, but he doesn't know whether to hate or be grateful to Obi-Wan for cutting it off. He should apologise. He _wants_ to, but for the life of him he can't figure out _how _to. A simple 'sorry' isn't going to bring back his mother. 'Sorry' isn't going to erase his slaughter of the Tusken Raiders. 'Sorry' isn't going to make Padmé come back into his arms. And worst of all – 'sorry' isn't going to change his split-second decision on the LAAT/i, or make Obi-Wan like him again, or forgive him for abandoning him to his fate, or heal his wounds, or stop him from being a cripple.

"Anakin?"

What does he _want_, if he doesn't want the only apology Anakin knows how to give? Does he want an excuse, an explanation? _What?_ "I love her," Anakin whispers, barely registering what he's saying, and he feels his eyes clouding over. _You can never come first for me…_

"You _can't_," Obi-Wan says sternly, stopping the bitter memory before it can take hold, and Anakin braces himself as he feels a lecture building. "I've told you before, you have a commitment to the Jedi Order, and a duty to –"

He hates that word. He _hates_ it and all its implications and its boundaries – he hates it because _duty_ is what stopped him from reaching his mother before it was too late, _duty_ is what has driven Padmé away, _duty_ is what he is supposed to do but despises doing – _duty, duty, duty_, why isn't there anything else but fucking _duty?_ "Duty," he spits angrily. "Duty! That's all everyone ever cares about, isn't it!"

And of course, Obi-Wan does what Obi-Wan has always done, and talks in that calm, cultured, rational, and oh-so-perfect Jedi Master voice that drives Anakin insane. "No, but it _is_ what everyone requires of you. There is large difference –"

"I needed to make sure she was all right!" Anakin cries. He can't hear any more of this – why doesn't Obi-Wan understand? Why doesn't he understand that if his bloody _duty_ wasn't to Padmé then he abandoned him for no reason, and that if he really will be crippled for life then it will be his fault? "I couldn't just _leave_ her – I have a duty to _her!_"

Obi-Wan takes a moment to answer. "You have a duty to this war –"

"– Her safety was _my_ responsibility –"

"– She is her own responsibility! You had a responsibility, just as I had one, to the war."

_Shut up, shut up, shut up, I did the right thing, I had to have done –_

"You betrayed me and the Order by your actions, and your inability to see that troubles me the worst of all!"

_I didn't betray you I haven't it's not my fault I love her it's not my fault you're crippled it can't be –_

"Dooku –"

"_Her life is more important than Dooku's!_"

Even the shadows seem to shrink back at his explosion. There is a moment's pause, and Anakin realises he has leapt off the bed and has probably been standing before Obi-Wan for a while, his fists clenched at his side, shaking, and panting for breath. Obi-Wan blinks, then exclaims, "And mine _isn't?_"

Immediately he knows that what he shouted was entirely the wrong thing to say – and he can't take it back.

_No, that's not what I – I didn't mean – how can he think –?_

He mind has stopped connecting with his mouth, and he needs to get out of there and away from Obi-Wan. He can't stand the look of utter devastation that crosses his Master's face – he can't even escape the building disgust and rage directed at _himself_ for even letting Obi-Wan think that, and now he knows for sure his Master will hate him, but he doesn't know what to say and he can't keep _looking_ at that hurt expression knowing that he's caused it, so he turns sharply on his heel and storms out, using the Force to violently push the door aside. If Obi-Wan didn't already hate him from before, there is no question that he does now.

"_Anakin –!_"

The door slams shut behind him.

* * *

Barely a day left before reaching Coruscant, Anakin can't stay away from Obi-Wan forever. It's like some addiction that has him crawling back to his Master, locking the door shut as he moves closer and closer to Obi-Wan, who looks so vulnerable on his bed, a pathetic shell of a man in dire contrast to the powerful being he has been on the LAAT/i, blazing like a beacon in the Force. Towering over Obi-Wan, the only sounds are their breathing; Anakin's harsh and ragged, and Obi-Wan's even. What is he even _doing_ here? What more can he possibly say? No – it isn't what he needs to say. It's what he needs to hear. To know. "Do you hate me, Master?" he demands.

It's disgusting, how genuinely confused Obi-Wan looks. "Why would I hate you?"

_Stop lying! _Anakin wants to scream. "What do you mean _why?_ You should!"

"I don't," is the simple, infuriating answer. He bets Obi-Wan is doing it on purpose to rile him up, the son-of-a-sith –

"Why don't you hate me, after what I did?"

"I could never hate you, Anakin –"

Something snaps. "_I crippled you!_" he screams. "Don't you _care?_"

It takes a while for Obi-Wan to answer; he closes his eyes, and breathes heavily, and for the barest of moments Anakin thinks he sees a flash of anger cross that calm Jedi mask but it is gone before he can see it properly. Opening his eyes, Obi-Wan carefully says, "Dooku did this to me, not you."

It escapes Anakin how Obi-Wan carefully avoids saying 'cripple', distracted instead by his blasted _serenity_. There he goes again, with that stupid calm tone, no damn emotion whatsoever. There's no way anyone can be that perfect, that forgiving – not even Obi-Wan. There must be a catch, he _must _be lying. "You don't believe that," Anakin snarls, "and even if you did then I as good as! How can you be so calm? Why can't you be angry?"

"Do you want me to be angry?"

"YES!"

"Why?"

The only thing stopping him from lashing out and striking that serene expression from Obi-Wan's face is the constant reminder that his Master can't defend himself. It all comes out now, in one massive explosion of the emotions that have slowly been strangling him for weeks on end and he can't stop it, and none of it makes sense anyway but he doesn't care – _because it'll make me feel better,_ "Because you're always _so damn perfect!_ Why aren't you angry at me? I hate you, I _hate_ you – you've always been jealous of me, you're holding me back, I couldn't save her and it's _your_ fault – _I abandoned you!_ You should _hate_ me, _I_ hate me, _Padmé_ hates me – you don't know a thing, you don't know how I feel, you probably don't even feel anything – you're just like the rest of the Jedi – she left me, she doesn't want anything to do with me anymore, and it's _your_ fault! I _chose_ her instead of you and she still left and you don't hate me _why?_"

"Anakin –"

"I hate you!" _I don't, I don't mean it –_"You've _never_ understood –"

"Anakin, stop!"

"Why?" he snaps – then notices that Obi-Wan has recoiled, ever so slightly, into the dark shadows of his bunk, his blue-green eyes wide. _He's afraid of me_, Anakin thinks numbly as his body trembles in rage. _I could hit him, right now, and he wouldn't be able to do a thing to stop me –_ Obi-Wan has never been afraid of him before. Never.

_He knows. He knows I have the power to do anything I wanted to him right now, and he can't do anything_.

How _easy_ it would be to just reach out and wrap the Force around his neck, squeezing and cutting him off from life like he did with the Sand People, watching that stupid serene face contort as he gasps for air and claws at his throat, how good it would be to finally break free of the shackles that Obi-Wan has bound him with and wield the power he has tried to suppress in him since the age of nine and Force how can he be thinking this? He didn't just think that, he _couldn't_ have just imagined strangling his Master to death and _enjoying_ it and he thinks he's going to throw up –

"Anakin, I'm not going to pretend to know anything you're feeling right now –"

"The _fuck _you don't," Anakin spits, "I bet you've never –"

"– But I do know what it feels like to abandon your Master."

He freezes.

"I _know_, Anakin. I've been there."

_You liar_, Anakin want to say, but there is something so honest and desperate in his Master's expression that stops him. How he could possibly know what it feels like to live with the weight of deserting his Master for something he thought was right but wasn't, his sacrifice in vain? He realises Obi-Wan is still talking, in that soothing, Coruscanti accent that Anakin has always tried to imitate but never quite could.

"…Somewhere along the way, we've lost each other's trust –"

"So you don't trust me." _Of course he doesn't, why would he after –_

"That's not what I meant."

"Doesn't mean it's not true, though."

"Be calm, my young apprentice," Obi-Wan says. It takes Anakin longer than it should have for the affectionate address to make sense, and when it does, it acts like a spell, soothing the deadly fires consuming his body. "Somewhere along the way, I've lost _your_ trust. I don't know how, and I fear I have done you a great disservice by allowing it to happen, but I need you to trust me again, even if it's the last time you do. _Talk _to me, Anakin. Just tell me everything that's wrong, and I – I promise I'll listen, and I won't – won't judge you right now or interrupt…later we can…just tell me. Please. Let me help you."

How can he _be_ like this, after everything he's said, and done? How can _anyone_ be like this? _Help_ him? There's nothing to help. Why is he doing this? He wants to keep pushing, keep hounding Obi-Wan back against the invisible boundary that he _knows_ must be there, there _has_ to be an edge to this endless stupid _selflessness_ that plunges down a violent waterfall, and _he_ wants to be the one to finally push him over and watch as Obi-Wan descends into darkness, but he _doesn't_ want to because this is _Obi-Wan_, and if can't save him then he doesn't know who else can, because Padmé certainly can't; she is just a temporary, beautiful illusion of absolution that lets him forget.

"You abandoned Qui-Gon?" he whispers. There is a flicker of hope in his heart, relief to know that maybe he isn't the only one to have betrayed his Master. Deep down, he is aware that it doesn't make what he did _right_ or any less wrong – it just makes him feel better.

"Once," Obi-Wan answers.

He needs to hear this. He needs Obi-Wan to give into one last demand before – before – "Will you tell me what happened?"

"If you want."

Obi-Wan's low, cultured murmur soothes Anakin as they slip into the story of Melida/Daan, and the Young, and a girl named Cerasi, and how Obi-Wan sacrificed everything he knew at the tender age of fourteen for them, leaving the Order and raising his lightsaber against his own Master. He senses the situations were completely different, especially since Obi-Wan didn't abandon Qui-Gon in the middle of a battle and to his possible death, and he was much, much younger than Anakin's twenty standard years. By the end, Anakin is on the brink of tears; not for Qui-Gon, or for Obi-Wan, who is lost in the memory of holding Cerasi in his arms as she died and whose eyes are unexpectedly and uncharacteristically misting over, or for anything the story has to offer, but for himself and everything he has done, and finally and brutally, he confesses.

Everything he has ever hidden from Obi-Wan comes pouring out and he can't stop it. His mother's torture and death at the hands of the Tusken Raiders, and the subsequent bloodshed in his blind rage and grief because they are repulsive animals who deserved to be slaughtered like the diseased swine they are, and his love for Padmé and her cruel rejection of him in favour of her _duty_, and he's the Chosen One and he _should_ have the power to save people and that he's _better_ than Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan has always been holding him back because he's jealous but he doesn't mean it, not really, and the guilt, Force, the _guilt_, for abandoning Obi-Wan on Geonosis that has been building up since that horrid day, and he's _sorry_ –

"I don't hate you, M-master, I'm sorry, I d-didn't mean it," Anakin sobs, his hands blindly clenching and twisting Obi-Wan's clothes. He barely knows what he is saying, everything now is just a gush of words that represent the emotions he carries like the weight of Korriban itself on his shoulders. "Don't hate me, please don't hate me, I'm s-sorry, I'm _sorry_ –"

"Shh," Obi-Wan breathes, his voice strangely choked above him. Anakin can't bear to look up, terrified of what he'll see. Disgust, hatred – "Nothing you can do will ever make me hate you. I may not like or approve of the things you do, but I will never hate you, Padawan. Never."

To listen to this is so heartbreaking and so painful, but also so right and almost everything he has needed to hear for years. He's not sure he believes it just yet, but when Obi-Wan's hand entwines in his hair and around his Padawan braid, wracked by tremors, tears overcome him once more, and Anakin buries his face in Obi-Wan's chest. _Padawan. He called me Padawan_. "Help me," he begs, cheeks streaked with tears, "help me –"

Obi-Wan just holds him closer, the promise in his silence.


	9. Darkness

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Eight –  
Darkness

"Because you're always _so damn perfect!_" Anakin screams, eyes wild. The air around him spits with the sparks of his unchecked passion and ferocity, and Obi-Wan finds himself recoiling, half stung by his words, half alarmed by his sheer lack of control. "Why aren't you angry at me? I hate you, I _hate_ you – you've always been jealous of me, you're holding me back, I couldn't save her and it's _your_ fault – _I abandoned you!_ You should _hate_ me, _I_ hate me, _Padmé_ hates me – you don't know a thing, you don't know how I feel, you probably don't even feel anything – you're just like the rest of the Jedi – she left me, she doesn't want anything to do with me anymore, and it's _your_ fault! I _chose_ her instead of you and she still left and you don't hate me _why?_"

The uncontrollable rage pulsates in the air and Obi-Wan shrinks away, ever so slightly, into the dark as if hoping it will protect him, not only from Anakin's wrath but from the stinging words. "Anakin –" he tries.

"I hate you! You've _never_ understood –"

"Anakin, stop!" he cries – though he wonders whether he said this to calm Anakin down, or to save himself from having to listen to every hurtful word that poisons the air and his heart. _I hate you, I _hate_ you –_

"_Why?_"

In this single, terrifying moment, Obi-Wan knows Anakin can kill him. The Force hisses around him with the volatile sparks of Anakin's fury, and images begin to flood the bond that flares to life – images of Anakin wrapping the Force around Obi-Wan's throat and tightening and tightening, not letting him breathe while he chokes and gasps for air claws uselessly at his neck. He refuses to let his horror – his _terror_ – show or escape, but he needs to placate him _now_ because once his Padawan starts he doesn't think the boy will know how to stop, or will _want_ to stop until it's too late.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan says desperately, "I'm not going to pretend to know anything you're feeling right now –"

"The fuck you don't," Anakin spits, "I bet you've never –"

"– But I do know what it feels like to abandon your Master."

Anakin freezes, and for one heart-stopping second he thinks he has made a terrible, terrible mistake in saying that. He only has one chance at this, and it is quickly slipping through his fingers. If he's got this wrong…if he says one wrong word, Anakin will be unable to keep afloat in this sea of darkness and drown – and drag Obi-Wan down with him. He isn't strong enough to keep kicking for both of them.

"I _know_, Anakin," he continues, praying to the Force and to Qui-Gon for guidance and receiving no answer. "I've been there."

Anakin isn't even listening anymore, but he goes on anyway, rambling pacifying words and stringing sentences that form some nonsense about how he wants to understand – honestly, he doesn't even know, but he manages to clear himself up quickly and say, "Somewhere along the way, we've lost each other's trust –"

"So you don't trust me."

Of course that would be the one thing Anakin Skywalker would pay attention to. "That's not what I meant," Obi-Wan quickly says, cursing silently; and from a certain point of view, it really _wasn't_ what he meant. While Obi-Wan certainly does not trust Anakin now, it was not the point he was trying to make.

"Doesn't mean it's not true, though."

He's losing him again, and fast – it is akin to trying to grab hold of water, only to helplessly watch as it pours out from between his fingers. In his mind's eye he sees Anakin balancing precariously on the periphery of the darkness, hovering in that cursed grey blur between the extremes, not knowing which way is forward to salvation and which way spells his destruction. _This is it_, the Force whispers, _this is your last chance_.

"Be calm, my young apprentice," Obi-Wan says, sounding so much serener than he feels. It takes him a moment to realise what he has called Anakin, though his panic quickly dissolves into relief when he feels the fires burning around Anakin in the Force douse. Hopeful, he keeps talking in that soothing voice he wishes reflects his own emotions: "Somewhere along the way, I've lost _your_ trust. I don't know how, and I fear I have done you a great disservice by allowing it to happen, but I need you to trust me again, even if it's the last time you do. _Talk_ to me, Anakin. Just tell me everything that's wrong, and I – I promise I'll listen, and I won't – won't judge you right now or interrupt…" He wets his lips, struggling to find the right words. "Later we can…" No, don't let Anakin think about the 'later', his mind orders, making him break off in time. "Just tell me," he concludes, defeated. "Please. Let me help you."

Anakin is silent for a very long time. The fire in his eyes flares and dies, flares and dies, and as the silence stretches out, the only sounds in the quarters besides the low hum of the hyperdrive being their breathing, Obi-Wan is on the verge of begging. _Please, say something, say anything –_

"You abandoned Qui-Gon?" Anakin finally whispers after what feels like a lifetime.

A stab of guilt and pain best left forgotten pierces his chest as he unwillingly answers, "Once," while wondering what that has to do with anything.

"Will you tell me what happened?"

Realisation dawns instantly – Anakin wants reassurance. He needs to know that he isn't the only one who has abandoned his Master. It won't make what Anakin did right, or any less wrong, and Obi-Wan will make sure Anakin knows this sooner or later, but for now he has no choice but to share this dark, well-kept secret with his Padawan, aware that if Anakin is going to open up then _this_ is the trigger, _this_ is the key, for it to happen. "If you want," he concedes quietly. Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he begins slowly. "I was fourteen. Master Qui-Gon and I were sent on a mission to a world wracked by civil war, called Melida/Daan…"

Obi-Wan lets the memory take over, and with it every emotion he thought he was beyond. His grasp on the present is slipping as he learns of the Young and meets beautiful, headstrong Cerasi, and resents himself as he raises his lightsaber against Qui-Gon and deserts the Order and sacrifices everything he has ever known to join her. Shamefully he feels his eyes misting over with when he cradles Cerasi's limp body in his arms, and barely keeps himself from sobbing when she turns into Qui-Gon, on the cusp of death, _Obi-Wan…promise…promise me you will train the boy…He is the Chosen One…he will bring balance…train him…_

Even as he nods, as Qui-Gon tenderly reaches up to brush his cheek, as tears form at the corners of his eyes and he says _Yes, Master,_ he is thinking bitterly, selfishly – _and me, Master? Have you no last words for me?_ But no, the light leaves Qui-Gon's eyes and the Force suddenly recoils and screams with his loss, the bond shattering in his mind and scarring his heart –

"They murdered her."

Cerasi and Qui-Gon disappear, replaced by Anakin who is sitting at the edge of his bed, dazedly staring at something behind Obi-Wan's head without actually seeing. Blinking rapidly and drawing a sharp breath, Obi-Wan gently asks, "Who?"

"My mother."

So that's why he was on Tatooine, Obi-Wan realises, startled and shocked. He opens his mouth, ready to offer comfort, but that dark, haunting presence in Anakin's eyes flares dangerously and Obi-Wan falls silent before can start. Anakin leaps to his feet, towering over Obi-Wan once more, seething the very presence of death.

"They tortured and murdered my mother and I was too late – I couldn't save her, I didn't have the power and I _should_ have, I'm the_ Chosen One, I should have been able to save her! _You're holding me back and look what you've done! _You_ as good as killed her and I _hate you_, I hate you I _hate you I hate you_! _You_ should be dead, not her! I'd rather have _her_ than _you!_"

It's a confession, not just an accusation or blind rage, but it hurts all the same. Part of Obi-Wan wonders if Anakin is even aware of what he's saying, of how he slowly kills Obi-Wan with every spiteful word – another part of him, the Jedi part, says that Anakin isn't aware of anything at the moment, much less Obi-Wan's feelings, and that this is important – Anakin needs to let go of what seems like years and years of pent-up resentment, and this is only way he knows how to, or can, at this point.

"They're all dead, you know," Anakin says, his voice and eyes dark. "The Sand People. I killed them. I slaughtered them all, every single one of them, they're like animals, the women and the children and the men everything was dead and I couldn't stop, I didn't _want_ to stop – I liked killing them, it made me better, and powerful, but it didn't make her come back, I was so _angry_ –"

He feels sick. The chill of hyperspace penetrates his raw wounds, and the deep throb is almost unbearable – made worse only by what he is hearing. Anakin is pacing now, up and down, his boots heavily echoing around the quarters almost as quickly as Obi-Wan's heart is hammering in his chest. Numbly, he listens to a violent spew of words which don't want to make sense to him – has his Padawan just admitted to the extermination of an entire village? Bloodlust and darkness at its highest pinnacle – cold-blooded murder? Slaughtering _women_ and _children?_

_Oh, Anakin…what have you done?_

Yet he says nothing – one word, one distraction, and Anakin will snap and lash out, and succumb to the darkness that has danced at his heels and seduced his mind and heart since he was a boy.

"Padmé told me I was selfish, that my love for her made me selfish. She left me, after I gave her everything, after I abandoned you! She – she told me she would have married me if I'd stayed on the LAAT/i with you! She likes you more than she loves me!"

_Marriage?_

"What's so special about _you?_ I'm better than you, I'm more powerful than you and you – you're jealous of me, and my power! That's why you're holding me back, you were always jealous that Qui-Gon wanted _me_ instead of _you_, and I know you hated me when you took me as your Padawan because I was your replacement, because Qui-Gon _knew_ I was better than you and you never even wanted me, you resented me, well I hate you too, I've _always hated you_ –"

_Stop_, Obi-Wan thinks, _please, stop, don't bring Qui-Gon into this, don't do it, please –_

"– Qui-Gon would have understood! He would have been a good Master, _he_ wouldn't have held me back, he was going to train me because he knew I'm the Chosen One but instead I got stuck with you! I'm _never_ good enough for you, all you do is criticise me – Qui-Gon wouldn't have, _he_ believed in me!"

_At the expense of all else!_ Obi-Wan nearly snarls, only just managing to stop himself, surprised – and horrified – by the venom in his own mental voice. He can do nothing but clench his jaw tightly and listen to Anakin's blind ranting, casting aside his unwelcome thoughts, because he can't afford for them to come out now, not now –

"How can you even look at me, after what I did? I hate myself, I can't think, I can't talk, I can't even _eat_ because I hate myself so much for leaving you alone! Th-they said you might never walk again without a limp and, and _I_ did that to you and I feel like I need to throw up whenever I think about it, _you_ didn't do something like this to Qui-Gon, I'm a terrible Padawan, you probably don't even want to keep being my Master after this cause I know I wouldn't want to be –"

Breaking off with a wretched cry, the boy falls to his knees with what sounds like a painful _thump_ before Obi-Wan's bed.

"No," he moans, "no, I don't mean it, I didn't mean any of that, I don't – I'm sorry, I – I –"

He reaches forward, hands grasping at air, searching for something that Obi-Wan doesn't think he can give, or at this point even _wants_ to give.

"I don't hate you, M-master, I'm sorry, I d-didn't mean it," Anakin is sobbing, his hands clenched Obi-Wan's clothes, his body a trembling heap of confusion and grief and guilt. "Don't hate me, please don't hate me, I'm s-sorry, I'm _sorry_ –"

_This_ is the apology he has yearned for. There is no deception in Anakin's grief, no false sorrow, and it makes Obi-Wan choke a little on the sudden rush of emotion he has been failing to hold at bay. It isn't going to turn back time and make Anakin choose to stay with him on the LAAT/i, to be by his side when he confronted Dooku, and it isn't going to make his injuries heal, and it isn't going to take back every single word of loathing Anakin has spat and snarled and hissed at him like a Sith hell-bent on revenge, and it isn't going to miraculously heal the gaping wound between them and their disintegrating relationship, but it's still an apology, and Anakin really, truly means it. There is no more deception in the man shuddering before him, only brutal, burning honesty.

"Shh," he breathes, his voice tight with emotion, gazing down at Anakin's bowed head and jerking shoulders. "Nothing you can do will ever make me hate you. I may not like or approve of the things you do, but I will never hate you, Padawan. Never."

And amazingly, he finds the words are the complete truth. He _can't_ hate Anakin, for what everything he did or will do, or who he becomes. Be angry, yes, and disappointed, and disgusted, and possibly even resentment, but he can't find it within himself to ever, _ever_, hate Anakin. While he will never admit it to Anakin, let alone to himself, he loves Anakin too much for it to ever turn into hatred, in spite of everything.

With a trembling hand, he laces his fingers through the spiky Padawan haircut, and twists the braid around his fingers tightly, as if hoping to pull Anakin back out of the vortex of darkness he is being sucked into with it, using it as his lifeline – pleading to the Force that he is strong enough to hang on.

"Help me," Anakin begs, tears streaming down his face, "help me –"

The plea tears a hole in his heart as Anakin buries his face in Obi-Wan's chest, and he needs to remind himself to breathe. It seems like forever that Obi-Wan has wished for Anakin to reach out for help; he is just anguished that it has taken all of this, that he has let it get this far, to prompt it. Resting a hand at the back of Anakin's neck, Obi-Wan just holds him closer, the tears in his eyes a testament to his silent promise.


	10. Candlelight

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Nine –  
Candlelight

This is how it feels to be Anakin Skywalker right now:

You are completely drained. The past hour has finally taken its toll on your body, and you lie uselessly against your Master's chest, your face tilted upwards to be buried at the curve of his neck, and clutching his good arm which is coiled around your own chest tightly. There is something almost erotic about this position, though this is the last thing on your mind.

You don't even remember how it happened – it's all some massive blur, and your throat is raw and your cheeks are stiff with drying tears, and you suspect you may have been screaming – but Obi-Wan knows everything now. You don't have any more secrets to hide from him, and somehow, you're all right with this. You feel his warm breath on your cheek and his scratchy beard lightly grazing your skin sensually as he breathes, in, out, in, out, as if in meditation, and you lose yourself in this simple comfort. The last time you were this close to your Master, physically and emotionally, was…so long ago you can't even remember.

You know there will be a discussion later. You know there will be consequences. You know Obi-Wan will eventually express his disappointment, possibly even his disgust, but right now, you aren't the Chosen One, or Padawan Skywalker, or Knight Kenobi's apprentice, or a subject of the Jedi Order. Here, lying against Obi-Wan in a firm, safe embrace, you are just Anakin, and he is not your Master, either, right now – he is just Obi-Wan, your friend and your mentor, and the man you trust beyond all others, and there is nothing else you want to think about.

And, amazingly, despite _everything_, he doesn't hate you.

For the first time in the longest time you can remember, you feel…purged. Peaceful, as though the shadows that have haunted your soul for so long are beginning to recede, pushed back by the gentle flicker of candlelight. They are still there, leering and threatening to take over, but right now, they can't hurt you.

This is how it feels to be Anakin Skywalker, right now.

* * *

This is how it feels to be Obi-Wan Kenobi right now:

You are completely drained. The past hour has finally taken its toll on your body, and you lie painfully against the pillows with your Padawan's face pressed into your neck and your arm curled around his chest. Sweat has broken out on your forehead, but you don't make a sound, unwilling to alert Anakin to your discomfort. It's the last thing he needs right now. He feels thin in your grasp, as if he hasn't eaten for days – as if you aren't worried enough already.

At least the worst of the storm is over. You've always known Anakin to be a volatile man, to say the least, but you could never have expected the torrent of _hatred_ he has been hiding from you. You were afraid of him. Of what he was going to do.

There will be a discussion later. There will be consequences. You will eventually tell Anakin of your disappointment, but right now, you don't want to be his Master. Here, with Anakin lying against you (in the worst possible position he could have chosen, but at least he has taken care not to put pressure on your leg), you are just Obi-Wan, and Anakin isn't the Chosen One or Padawan Skywalker; he is just Anakin, your friend, and a young man who needs help before he destroys himself and loses himself to the seductive dance with darkness he is engaged in.

You try to calm yourself by imitating meditation, as once again the Force frustratingly evades you, whispering inaudibly about you, not to be heard and just out of reach. You can no longer blame this on sedation; something about _you_ is stopping the connection. It will have to wait until you reach Coruscant. For now, you simply settle for deep, even breaths – in, out, in, out. You feel Anakin's inhalations synchronise with yours, his lips a hair's breadth away from your skin and his warm breath caressing your neck. You can't remember the last time you were so close to Anakin, physically or emotionally, or the last time he has ever told you so much. The older he got, the less he spoke – and perhaps this is partially your fault, for turning into Qui-Gon and dismissing his visions, telling Anakin to _live in the moment_ and _focus on the present_. No wonder he hid himself from you until it was almost too late.

Not for the first time since the day Anakin jumped after Padmé and indirectly caused your crippling injuries, you feel weighted down, burdened, and it's getting worse, as though you carry not only your own turmoils but all of Anakin's as well, steadily consuming your soul like softly murmuring shadows closing in on a dying candle. His hateful words will not leave you, and they are all you can hear, over and over, bitter words that feel like the fires of Mustafar searing your very body.

You are frightened, and this you cannot afford to show, not while Anakin is in such a dangerous place. You just hope, in the end, you will not be too late for yourself.

This is how it feels to be Obi-Wan Kenobi, right now.


	11. Lend Me Your Ears

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Ten –  
Lend Me Your Ears

The dazed feeling of light-headedness follows Anakin all the way to Coruscant. The thrum of the hyperdrive engine deep in the heart of the ship slows and ceases before they breach Coruscant's atmosphere. Obi-Wan hasn't spoken since the previous night, nor have they moved or even sought release in sleep; Anakin is perfectly content with this, because he knows that with every passing second, the _later_ is slowly morphing into _now_, and he wants to delay that for as long as he can. Anakin rolls off Obi-Wan only when they land at the Temple, and they are taken to the Healer's Wing straight away. Obi-Wan hasn't tried to walk yet, not that Anakin thinks he even can; instead, his proud Master is forced into a hover chair not unlike Yoda's, much to his mortification and Anakin's guilty amusement.

The news is better than what was delivered at Geonosis. Bant Eerin reassures Obi-Wan with a gentle, sympathetic smile that he will be able to walk again and, with the proper physical therapy, he can minimise his limp and gain some control over the hand tremors, and hope flares within Anakin. When Obi-Wan tentatively asks about chronic pain, however, the smile fades and she lays a webbed hand over his shaking one. "You'll always have pain," the Mon Calamari breaks sadly, and the flare of hope disappears faster than as if a bucket of ice water had been thrown over it, "but it won't be always unbearable, especially if you use the Force to aid you. It might be worse in the cold, or when you overexert yourself. Your shoulder has a chance of complete recovery, but your leg…I'm so sorry, Obi. There might have been less, well, damage, if you had been submersed in a bacta tank straight away, but your other injuries prevented that from happening. Now…well…"

_Now, it's too late_. Fighting down the wave of nausea, Anakin bites back a cry of outrage, keeping his eyes on his Master, expecting to see _something_. But, no – like the perfect Jedi he is, Obi-Wan just nods once, and seemingly accepts this without a fight. How can he be like this? How can he just _sit_ there and _take_ it, so emotionlessly – as though he doesn't even _care_ that he'll never walk properly again, or live without pain? Suddenly furious, Anakin zones out of the conversation, unwilling to listen, and distracts himself by trying to count the ceiling tiles. He loses track of them after just twenty-two when he finds his eyes closing on their own accord – he didn't know he's this tired – but forces himself to pay attention again when Obi-Wan starts talking again.

"My connection to the Force lately has been…ephemeral."

Anakin watches Bant closely as she bites her lip; the news is a shock to her, too. "Well, there appears to be no physical reason as to why you can't keep hold of it," she says, sounding confused. "Have you been having nightmares?"

Wondering what that has to do with anything, Anakin frowns, concerned, when Obi-Wan says, "I haven't been sleeping very well."

"So that's a yes."

"I didn't –"

"You didn't have to say so, Obi, I can see it in your face. You look terrible."

It's true – Anakin has never seen Obi-Wan look older, or more tired. His eyelids are heavy, as if every waking moment is a struggle, and the small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes are more pronounced than they have been in years, but Obi-Wan cracks a smile (which doesn't quite reach his eyes) despite this. "Thank you, I do try."

"Hush, you," Bant says affectionately, then she stays silent for a while, alternatively reading the report and contemplating Obi-Wan, who sits patiently in bed while Anakin shuffles from one foot to another, annoyed that she is taking so long. "It's possible," the Mon Cal finally says slowly, "that you may be suffering from a form of post-traumatic stress."

"That's absurd," Anakin breaks in before Obi-Wan can say a word, unable to keep silent any longer, and ignores the less than impressed look Bant shoots at him. "Jedi don't suffer from PTSD." As if _Obi-Wan_, of all people, would suffer post-trauma stress.

Obi-Wan gives him a weary look, and Anakin gets the feeling that he's missing something. "Anakin, perhaps you could wait for me in our apartment?"

"But –" he begins to protest.

"Please?"

He wants to stay and argue, but one tired, pleading glance from Obi-Wan is all it takes for him to cave. "All – all right," he mumbles, feeling stupider by the moment. Why doesn't Obi-Wan want him to stay? Is it because he's afraid of looking weak in front of Anakin? (_He's already done that_, his mind nastily says.) Or is it because the shock has worn off, and this is the disgust and disappointment finally showing through? Swallowing his thoughts, Anakin asks, "Will you be okay?"

"I'll be fine, Anakin, thank you. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Feeling Bant's lingering gaze on his back like a scalding burn, Anakin leaves quickly, Obi-Wan's words both a comfort and a cause of unease. As soon as he is a decent distance from the Healer's Wing, he slows down and begins to dawdle, shooting glares at passing Jedi and scowling heavily. He is in no hurry to return to the rooms. He wants to stay with Obi-Wan, yet at the same time he doesn't. The _later_ is here for sure, especially now that the light-weight feeling is steadily being replaced by dread. He can't even remember what he said in his outburst; while he is semi-assured that Obi-Wan will keep his secrets, he has never liked anyone else being their keeper.

Ten minutes later and not much closer to the apartment, his commlink beeps and Obi-Wan's exhausted voice filters over it. "_Anakin, I'll be stuck here for quite a few hours and might not get back until after curfew. Will you be all right on your own?_"

"I will, Master," he says obediently, pretending to not feel the stab of irritation or the traitorous flush of relief.

"_It might do you some good to get some rest. How about you go and lie down? You seemed tired._"

A nap, is basically what Obi-Wan is ordering him to take. Pursing his lips, Anakin stiffly answers, "Sure. I'll see you later tonight," and shuts off the commlink without waiting for Obi-Wan to say goodbye. He isn't some ten year old boy chucking a tantrum who needs daytime rests. Just because Obi-Wan knows everything know, and promised to help him, and let him cry all over him barely a day earlier, does _not_ mean he gets to treat him like a child. The logical, and sadly underused, part of him mind tells him that, no, Obi-Wan is concerned for him, though this is quickly drowned out by annoyance. Gritting his teeth, Anakin pivots sharply on his heel and strides back in the direction from which he came, determined _not_ to head to the apartment. He's not tired anymore, and right now, the Jedi Temple is making him feel claustrophobic. It feels like every Jedi he passes stares at him coldly, _knowing_ what he's done, and their burning, accusing eyes follow him all the way out.

He wishes Padmé were here. He longs to hold her in his arms, smelling the subtle but intoxicating flower aroma of her soft hair and letting it calm him. She would know what to say to him, how to comfort him – or, he thinks with a grimace, she would start off on her _duty_ lecture again, and that's one of the last things he wants to listen to. Scowling, Anakin barely registers where his feet take him, and where his hands direct the speeder; all he knows is that he needs to get away from the Temple. It is not until he comes to a stop outside the Senate that he lets the circulation return to his fingers and lets himself breathe more steadily. The building looms over him; even now, years after living on Coruscant and visiting it, it takes his breath away every time. So many levels, so many rooms, to explore, yet there is only one chamber that he feels the need to go, and only one person he wants, _needs_, to see.

* * *

"Anakin, what a pleasant surprise!" the Chancellor beams, rising from his chair to greet Anakin. The door slides shut behind him and Anakin takes the moment to glance around the office. _At least _someone_ is still happy to see me_. "Please, come on in, have a seat. What brings you here?"

Anakin takes the chair the man who has come to think fondly of as a grandfather offers him and lets his eyes linger on the red carpets of the Chancellor's office. He has always liked it; not overwhelming, just subtly friendly, but not too impersonal at the same time. There has always been something welcoming about Palpatine's office which now feels like a second Jedi Temple to Anakin. "I just needed to see a friendly face," Anakin says. "I hope I'm not troubling you."

"Nonsense! My door is always be open to you, Anakin, you know that."

Anakin flushes in appreciation. "Thank you, Chancellor."

Palpatine gazes evenly at Anakin, his forehead wrinkling into a kindly and concerned frown. "Whatever is troubling you?" he says, always perceptive, and before Anakin can answer, Palpatine clasps his hands together knowingly. "Ah – I think I know. I received the news of your Master's injuries with much grief. It is a harsh blow to lose such an able-bodied warrior just as the war dawns, but I can't begin to imagine how difficult it must be for you."

Force, will he never be free of the _guilt_ whenever Obi-Wan's injuries are brought up? Is this how he is destined to live his life, forever shadowed by one split second decision? "He may still be able to fight," Anakin says hoarsely, wishing the words were able to bring comfort to himself. "The news at the Temple was better than the initial medical report."

"I do hope you're right, my boy. Sadly, it is in my experience that more often than not, wishful thinking takes over. 'Twice the hope, double the fall', is something one of my subjects tells me quite often. He simply lives his life by it and its variations! Very pessimistic, but, in a way, completely and utterly the truth. Very wise man, that one."

_Twice the hope, double the fall_. Dully, Anakin can only agree, keeping his eyes firmly on the red carpet. "Very."

"It is a terrible shame Knight Kenobi was unable to apprehend Count Dooku. If only he'd been up to Dooku's standard…"

In a flash, Anakin is in Obi-Wan's defense, disliking the patronising tone Palpatine is talking with. "It's not his fault. Obi-Wan is one of the best swordsmen in the Order, but no-one could have taken Dooku alone, not even Master Yoda." _Was_, the nasty voice in the back of his mind corrects, and another pang of guilt clenches his gut, _was one of the best._

"Alone?" Palpatine repeats, confused. "You were not there?"

Naturally that would be the one thing the ever perceptive Chancellor would pick up on. Swallowing, Anakin looks away and slowly says, "I…no. I wasn't."

"Ah, that explains it. Of course, had _you_ been there –"

"If I'd been there, my Master wouldn't be lying in the Healer's Wing being told he will live in pain for the rest of his life," Anakin all but snaps.

Palpatine raises his hands peacefully, his face open with mild surprise. "Now, Anakin, that wasn't what I meant," he says, sounding bewildered. "You can't possibly think his crippling was your fault?"

"But it _was_ my fault!" Anakin moans. "I deserted him halfway to the hangar to go back and help Pad- I mean, Senator Amidala! I knew he couldn't take Dooku on his own, but I still abandoned him to his fate –"

"Is that what he told you?" Palpatine says sharply, his eyebrows raised as though he's quite horrified by what Anakin has just said.

Realising how he is making his Master sound, Anakin quickly says, "No, but –"

"Anakin, what happened to your Master is not your fault! Why in the galaxy would you think that? Yes, you probably shouldn't have left him, knowing he didn't have the skills required to engage Count Dooku, but his injuries are in no way your fault! _You_ didn't pick up the lightsaber and disable him. Who is even to say that if you_ were_ there then his injuries would have been avoided? My boy, you shouldn't have to be shouldering such guilt when it's obviously unwarranted! Goodness. Next you'll be telling me _Kenobi_ blames you –"

"He doesn't!" Anakin cries, Obi-Wan's words flooding back to him. "He – he told me he didn't hate me, for leaving him."

_Nothing you can do will ever make me hate you. I may not like or approve of the things you do, but I will never hate you, Padawan. Never._

The memory warms him, but he realises the Chancellor is talking, and makes himself listen. "Doesn't hate you?" he repeats. "Well, that's…" Palpatine trails off, looking everywhere _but_ Anakin.

"Chancellor?" Anakin prompts, half out of concern, and half out of slowly increasing dread.

"Forgive me if I am overstepping my boundaries, dear boy," the Chancellor says carefully, sounding as though the words themselves are painful for him to say, "but 'not hating' you isn't quite the same as, well, _not_ _blaming_ you, or even _loving_ you."

Anakin blinks. "I…"

"Oh, Anakin, I didn't mean to upset you. Here, have some chocolate." Palpatine moves a bowl forward with surprising grace before Anakin has the chance to think on his words properly. Absently, Anakin picks up a wrapped chocolate but declines to open it, instead just twisting it over in his fingers. "Something else is bothering you," the Chancellor says, his voice filled with the compassion Anakin wishes Obi-Wan's was. Shoving the chocolate inside a pocket, Anakin exhales loudly and inattentively picks at a splinter on the desk.

"I did something bad, Chancellor," he says, voice dull. There is no rage here; that has all been vented, and he can't start shouting himself ino a delirious state, not like he did with Obi-Wan who just sat there and received it, calmly as ever. "Do you remember what I told you of the visions I'd been having?"

"Of your mother?"

"Yes. They – they came true. She's dead. She was tortured by the Sand People and I – I couldn't get to her on time. I couldn't save her."

"Oh, my dear boy, I am so terribly sorry. I know how much you loved and missed her –"

"That's not all," he says, not caring that he has just interrupted the Supreme Chancellor. "I…I killed them. All of them. I exterminated the entire village. I was just so _angry_…I wanted revenge, and it's wrong but I – I felt better when I killed them, and I shouldn't have done it at all."

It amazes him, how much _easier_ it is to tell the Chancellor than it was to confess to Obi-Wan, and how easily the words fall from his mouth. It isn't the same as telling Obi-Wan; Obi-Wan has very high Jedi expectations of him, and anything less than Jedi-perfect from Anakin makes him disapprove, and Anakin doesn't _want_ Obi-Wan's disapproval; he doesn't want to carry the knowledge that he has disappointed his Master so deeply. The Chancellor, however…telling the Chancellor is like confessing a sin to a kindly grandfather who never judges and never gets angry or disappointed by him, and just accepts him for who he is and absolves him the second he confesses. Yet still, Anakin lowers his head, the shame building in him, and his Padawan braid swings across his face, strands poking out everywhere from, well, _everything_, including from the way Obi-Wan held it tightly and comfortingly that night in hyperspace. Fondly, Anakin traces it with his fingers.

"It's only human to want revenge," the Chancellor says gently, and Anakin glances up, drawn out of his thoughts.

"I'm a Jedi, I have to be better than human," he recites. This sounds like the conversation he had with Padmé, except she more or less tried to ignore what he did.

"What you did wasn't wrong or bad, Anakin," Palpatine says firmly. "They killed your mother. It was justice, and the Tatooine local residents are probably much, much safer now for your actions."

It's so rational, when he says it like that. Obi-Wan wouldn't see it like that; he never sees anything honourable in Anakin's actions. "You aren't…disgusted, or disappointed by what I have done?" he tentatively asks, hope – _relief_ – flooding his bloodstream.

"No, Anakin! Of course I'm not!" Palpatine exclaims, sounding horrified by the mere thought of it. "Those creatures are barbarians, wild and bloodthirsty animals. I understand your actions completely, and I don't – _can't_ – judge you."

"It's not the Jedi way –"

"The Jedi way is not always the _right_ way, or the _realistic_ way." This is something the Chancellor always says, and the more he does the more Anakin is inclined to think he is right. Nodding slightly, Anakin crosses his arms over his body and shoves his hands up the sleeves of his robe, like Obi-Wan always does when he is cold, or defensive. Although he is feeling better, so much better, already, he cannot help but feel that talking to Palpatine about this, before Obi-Wan, is a tiny bit _wrong_, but Obi-Wan isn't well enough right now, and besides, he's only going to lecture.

"Have you told anyone else?" Palpatine asks.

"I told Obi-Wan. I told him everything," Anakin says.

Something about this surprises Palpatine. "Oh, I see."

"I felt better after I did," Anakin quickly assures him.

"Well, then that's what counts, I suppose." Yet even as he says this, Palpatine sits back in his chair and steeples his fingers contemplatively, a frown deepening on his forehead. He looks almost worried to Anakin, who shifts uneasily, disliking the suddenly tense mood that has filled the red chambers.

"Is something wrong, Chancellor?" he hesitantly asks.

"What? No, no…I was just thinking…the Jedi may not be as understanding as I have been. I fear they may consider your actions 'dark'."

"Obi-Wan promised he wouldn't tell the Council."

"Did he?"

The doubtful tone penetrates Anakin's defenses. Opening his mouth to confirm, the words die in his throat before they are formed when he realises that, no, Obi-Wan actually _didn't_. He didn't promise anything. He just asked him to trust him – he said _nothing_ about keeping it from the Council. Yes, he sort of lied to Master Windu about why he faced Dooku alone, but that doesn't mean he'll keep _this_ from them. For all he knows, Obi-Wan could be telling the Council _right now_. _He wouldn't_, he thinks, _he wouldn't do that to me, not now._ Anakin closes his mouth and doesn't answer, worried that if he opens his mouth again, he will vomit. The Chancellor sighs deeply and reaches over the desk to pat Anakin's hand consolingly, the silence content to speak as his answer.

"Did he trick you into telling him?" Palpatine asks gently.

Anakin shakes his head and swallows, denial swelling in his words. "No, he would never do that," Anakin says firmly, but even as he does the confidence and trust in his Master is trickling out like a sprung leak from a fuel tank. "I told him because he said he wanted to help me."

"Were you distressed at that point?"

"I…yeah, I was pretty out of it, pretty angry. I don't even remember what I said, for most of it." Which he doesn't; all he really knows is one moment, Obi-Wan talking about Melida/Daan, and the next he was sobbing like a child before him and begging him not to hate him. Suddenly Anakin is embarrassed about this, and feels the heat rising on his face. How could have allowed himself to look so pathetic, so _weak_, before Obi-Wan?

"Oh, dear," Palpatine says sadly, shaking his head. "That was terribly wrong of him, to manipulate you like that."

It takes a moment for the statement to make sense. "Wh-what?"

"Would you have told him under any other circumstances? If you had been thinking clearly? If I may say, from my experience, it is unlikely you would have. I fear he may have used your confusion and emotions against you to reveal your secrets. A common political, and often sneaky, method, but very effective. Although Knight Kenobi supposedly despises politics, he is very adept at them…he could have made a great politician, were he not a Jedi…"

Obi-Wan, _manipulate_ him? That can't be right. Obi-Wan is the most tragically honest Jedi Anakin knows! Yes, he does have impeccable negotiational skills…which his methods, admittedly, become very technical when it comes to honesty…and, yes, there are a lot of certain-points-of-views with him…but there's no way, no chance, that Obi-Wan purposely twisted Anakin's grief and confusion to his own ends. "He wouldn't have," Anakin says desperately, halting the increasingly darkening thoughts from taking over. "He…I…"

Was that what Obi-Wan did to him? Was he tricked into telling him about his mother's death, and his massacre of the Tusken Raiders, and whatever else he revealed in that screaming frenzy of release in hyperspace? Anakin sits numbly in the Chancellor's office, unable to talk, unable to _think_ properly. He doesn't want to believe that Obi-Wan could have done something like _that_ to get him to reveal his innermost and darkest secrets. Not Obi-Wan Kenobi, surely…

"Oh, Anakin, I'm sorry for distressing you. I'm sure I'm probably wrong about all of this…at least, I sincerely hope so, for your sake. Now that I think about it, I really don't think Knight Kenobi would have done that. Who am I to go about making assumptions when I hardly know him? It would be better for you not to think about what I've said. After all, what would I know of the Jedi?" Anakin barely reacts, only weakly shrugging a shoulder. "Goodness," Palpatine suddenly says, making Anakin look up, "look at the time! It's certainly dragging on. Should you be getting back?"

With a start, he realises how late it is, and is grateful for the distraction. "Yes, it's almost curfew. Thank you for reminding me."

"Not at all, my dear boy. Here, now, let me walk you to the door."

"Thank you for your time tonight, Chancellor."

"That's quite all right. Remember," Palpatine adds, sounding almost affectionate as he places a warm, friendly hand on Anakin's shoulder, "if you ever need anything…a favour, or just someone to talk to, or someone to lend their ears, my office will always be open to you."

The offer, as usual, fills Anakin with relief; it is comforting to know that no matter what happens with the Jedi, when Obi-Wan does decide to tell the Council, Anakin will always find salvation here, with the Chancellor. "I deeply appreciate it, sir," he says, meaning every word.

"Goodnight, Anakin."

"Goodnight, Chancellor."

* * *

It is very late when Anakin finally reaches the quarters which proudly bears the 'Kenobi/Skywalker' plate. Obi-Wan hasn't come back yet, and Anakin is thankful for this. The Chancellor's words have followed him, pounding in his mind with every dragging footstep, even though he was told to not think about them. _I'm probably wrong about all of this_, Palpatine had said, but…

…'_not hating' you isn't quite the same as, well, _not blaming_ you, or even_ loving_ you…_

With the sheets of his bed pulled up to his chin and his bedroom door sealed shut, Anakin feels like a small, vulnerable, and betrayed child. Sleep evades him, even long after he senses his Master being brought inside by someone, possibly Master Windu. He shuts out their voices and ignores Obi-Wan's groan of pain, squeezing his eyes tightly closed, shoving his head under his pillow, and throwing up his shields. He doesn't want to think about anything or anyone. He doesn't know what to think at all. He wants to trust Obi-Wan, he _wants_ to be a good Padawan and earn back the ten years' worth of faith and respect he shattered in one stupid second, and at the same time he can't stop hearing Palpatine's voice, over and over again.

_The Jedi way is not always the _right _way, or the_ realistic _way…_

The light-headed daze is completely gone, and in its place is a gross, sick feeling settling in his stomach which is spreading to the rest of his body. Shivering, Anakin wills himself not to burst into tears again. He doesn't want Palpatine to be right, but the more he thinks about their conversation, the more it makes sense, and the less he wants it to.

…_That was terribly wrong of him, to manipulate you like that…I fear he may have used your confusion and emotions against you to reveal your secrets…That was terribly wrong of him, to manipulate you like that…manipulate you like that…manipulate you like that…_


	12. Tears That Damn You

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Eleven –  
Tears That Damn You

"You'll always have pain, but it won't always be unbearable, especially if you use the Force to aid you. It might be worse in the cold, or when you overexert yourself. Your shoulder has a chance of complete recovery, but your leg…I'm so sorry, Obi. There might have been less, well, damage, if you had been submersed in a bacta tank straight away, but your other injuries prevented that from happening. Now…well…"

_Now_, Obi-Wan thinks lethargically, _it's too late_. Bant's webbed hand resting on his lightly trembling one brings him no comfort – he barely notices it. It shouldn't be like this. He shouldn't be _feeling_ this – this _nothingness_. It's as though her words travel through one and go straight out the other, not processing. He should be upset, at the very least. Tears, even – though not in front of Anakin, never in front of Anakin. He's already let himself look too weak in front of him, and Anakin can't handle the power that gives him right now. Still, he knows he has to react _somehow_ instead of just sitting there stupidly, so he bows his head in a single nod and pretends to be calm. He understands what she's saying, but it's not _him_ she's talking about – it's someone else, some other Obi-Wan Kenobi who will never walk without a limp, or live without pain or hand tremors. He only half-listens to what Bant is telling him, something about physical therapy sessions and exercises and using the Force to aid in his healing –

"Bant…" he interrupts with a nervous lurch in the pit of his stomach, "my connection to the Force lately has been…" Here he trails off, searching for the right word, "ephemeral."

Of course, no matter how nicely he dresses up the issue, in the end it will still be a really bad present in pretty wrapping. _Ephemeral_. Is that all he can describe it as, this desperate existence of trying to grasp the loose tendrils of a presence he has known and embraced since the day he was born? This void, this _emptiness_, that is consuming his body and mind as he slips further and further away from it? It is akin to losing a limb, or a sense, but worse; anyone can be a Jedi without sight or without hearing, and anyone can be Jedi without a limb. There is no prosthetic for the Force.

Bant bites her lip. "Well, there appears to be no physical reason as to why you can't keep hold of it," she says, confused. "Have you been having nightmares?"

_The violent hiss of a blood-red lightsaber, the crack of lightning, it burns, the sickening smell of burnt flesh and the constant scent of ash, Anakin, Anakin –_

"I haven't been sleeping very well," he half admits, avoiding the question.

"So that's a yes."

"I didn't –"

"You didn't have to say so, Obi. I can see it in your face. You look terrible."

He hasn't looked in a mirror recently, nor does he particularly want to, though he knows what he must look like. Thirty-six standard years old and he feels like fifty, most likely looks it too, tired, beard untrimmed and his hair no doubt turning grey at the temples. (Which Anakin mostly caused, but still.) Regardless, he forces a smile onto his face which he doesn't really mean, and says lightly, "Thank you, I do try."

"Hush, you," Bant says affectionately. Falling silent, Obi-Wan sits as still has possible, trying to not let his growing sense of dread show as she reads from the report and contemplates him alternately. From the corner of his eye he can see Anakin shifting from one foot to the other, and just as he thinks he's about to snap and throw a pillow at Anakin to make him stop, Bant starts talking again. "It's possible," she finally says, "that you may be suffering from a form of post-traumatic stress."

_Post-trauma stress?_

"That's absurd," Anakin interrupts before he has a chance to process this. "Jedi don't suffer from PTSD."

_I will not kill my Padawan, I will not kill my Padawan, I will not kill my Padawan –_

Trust Anakin to scoff at the very real and very serious condition of PTSD. Obi-Wan feels like laughing, but not out of humour. If he starts laughing, it will become hysterical, and from there, the damning tears will come and then everything would be real – laughter at the moment is a one-way ticket to a mental breakdown, and if there is one thing he definitely can't afford to let Anakin see, it's that. Either way, he possesses neither the physical nor mental strength to allow this to happen – and besides, he doubts his Padawan can appreciate the irony in the situation. He settles for a placid look which feels more like a grimace to him, and forces away the hysteria. "Anakin, perhaps you could wait for me in our apartment?"

The crestfallen expression on his Padawan's face does nothing to sway him. "But –"

"Please?" Obi-Wan all but begs. Why does he have to choose _now_ to be difficult, why can't he just –

"All – all right." Obi-Wan nearly closes his eyes in relief. He needs to talk to Anakin, but right now, he doesn't want to be around him. "Will you be okay?"

The boy's concern is oddly touching, despite the overbearing presence. "I'll be fine, Anakin, thank you," he says. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

The moment the boy leaves, Obi-Wan can suddenly breathe a lot easier, as though some phantom pressure was released from his windpipe. As soon as Anakin is out of earshot, Obi-Wan turns back to Bant who is busy glaring off in his Padawan's general direction.

"Sorry, Bant…what was it you were saying?"

She looks at him sceptically but continues from where she left off anyway. "Post-trauma stress. Anakin was partially right – it's not usual in Jedi, but it can happen when their connection to the Force is hindered. You see, how it works is that one creates the other – post-trauma stress can cut off the Force, and inability to connect to the Force fuels the post-traumatic stress because you can't release emotions or meditate. It's a vicious cycle, but as I said, unusual in Jedi. It's very common non-Force-sensitive species, and occasionally untrained Force-sensitives. I'm sure you'll be fine, Obi. It may yet be the last of the sedation wearing off. If you can't reach the Force by tomorrow, I'll get you to see a Soul Healer. Although, I must say, you seem to be coping rather well with all of this…" Bant trails off, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, and looks closely at Obi-Wan. "…Or you're not actually coping with it at all."

He averts his eyes guiltily.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi, denying this won't make it go away!"

"I know that!" he snaps. Bant steps back, her eyes wide with shock, and Obi-Wan mentally groans. "I'm…I'm sorry, Bant. I've just been preoccupied lately."

Well, if this isn't his understatement of the year, Obi-Wan doesn't know what is.

"Oh, Obi," Bant sighs, sinking next to him on the bed, "You shouldn't be so worried. Your part in the war can wait."

The war? The war was the last thing on his mind, but it gives him an excuse. "I know," he mutters.

"You'll still be able to fight."

Again, he feels like laughing hysterically, but forces the urge away. "With only two functioning limbs?" he says, eyebrows raised. "Well, I guess it's a good thing I'm right-handed and left-legged…"

"That's not funny! I'm keeping you here overnight, and tomorrow we'll see if I can get you to a Soul Healer, and then –"

"Bant, there's nothing wrong with me. I'll be fine. I'd really prefer to go to my apartment."

She looks at him incredulously. "No," she says slowly, as though she is talking to a petulant seven-year-old instead of a Jedi Knight of the Jedi Order, "what _you're_ going to do is call Anakin on your commlink and tell him you'll be staying here. If you don't want to see a Soul Healer, then the least you will be doing is letting me pull up a therapy schedule for you while you rest. I know you, Obi, you'll insist on walking back to the apartment yourself and do something stupid, so I'm making you stay here. That's final, and there's nothing you can say to make me change my mind!"

Obi-Wan closes his mouth.

"I need to check on some more patients and then I have to send a report to the Council, but I want you staying here, okay? And if I find out you've left before I clear you, so help me Obi-Wan Kenobi I will drag you back here by your _beard_!"

Up until this moment, Obi-Wan had forgotten just how intimidating his friend could be. He nods obediently, unconsciously bringing one hand up to protect his beard, and the Mon Cal relaxes into a smile. With a tight hug, carefully avoiding his shoulder, she kisses him on the cheek and glides away, leaving Obi-Wan alone in his sterile bed with nothing to do – and therefore, nothing to distract himself with. Pulling out his commlink, he switches it on. "Anakin," he says, "I'll be stuck here for quite a few hours and might not get back until after curfew. Will you be all right on your own?"

Anakin's voice travels through. "_I will, Master._"

"It might do you some good to get some rest. How about you go and lie down? You seemed tired." That, Obi-Wan would feel much better if he knew Anakin were both safe and alone in their apartment.

"_Sure. I'll see you later tonight._"

"Good –"

The commlink is shut off.

"…Bye," he finishes lamely. Silence reigns for a few seconds.

"Was that the boy?"

Obi-Wan's head jumps up, startled, his eyes focusing on none other than Mace Windu. Obi-Wan forces a smile he doesn't feel like smiling onto his face. "If by _the boy_ you mean _Anakin_, then yes, it was."

Mace crosses his arms and moves closer. "How're you holding up?"

He's beginning to hate that question and all of its variables. "Well, I've definitely seen better days," he says. "What brings you here?"

"Besides you? Obi-Wan, I'm shocked you think I have an ulterior motive."

Eyebrows raised, Obi-Wan says, "Touché."

Mace huffs and drags a chair over to the right side of Obi-Wan's bed. When he steeples his fingers and leans forward in his chair, Obi-Wan knows its serious. "Something happened before you reached Dooku, Obi-Wan. I could just about _smell_ the guilt rolling off the boy. What really happened?"

Why _now_, he thinks. He isn't in the mood, isn't in the right frame of mind, to deal with this _now_. "I don't know what you mean."

"You told me he 'fell', but I don't think that's what happened. He jumped off, didn't he? He knowingly, willingly left you to fight Dooku alone."

"From a certain point of view, I told you the truth. He really did fall."

"I will not hide his blatant disrespect and betrayal from the Council. The boy will be expelled."

"You have no proof of anything, which means the Council can't take action."

Mace fixates on him with a stern glare that makes him feel like a Padawan caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "What's going on, Obi-Wan?"

What's going on? Oh, if only Obi-Wan himself knows. There's too much going on; where would he start? With Anakin's betrayal, or with the fact that he will never walk without a limp? Or perhaps that his Padawan, his volatile apprentice, watched his mother die and then went on to _slaughter_ an entire village, spurred by darkness and anger, a bloodlest that should never be felt by a Jedi. Or maybe even the boy's cruel confession in hyperspace, where Obi-Wan had to endure the poisonous tongue at its worst, sparking bitter memories that he has no control over, or Sith, he might as well tell Mace that he can't even grasp the Force properly because he might be suffering from sithing PTSD, and he realises he's hardly breathing and he needs to start talking –

"Putting Anakin before the Council now will be the worst decision you have ever made," he says, amazing himself with the sheer _calmness_ of his tone. It's completely superficial, but it's still _something_ to prove to himself that he still has a modicum of control. "You don't understand. You don't know what he's going through right now."

"No, but I know that _you_ are currently recovering from permanent injuries, among other things."

While certainly not _delicate_ by any means, it is perhaps the first time Obi-Wan has ever heard Mace Windu skirt around an issue. "'Among other things'?" he repeates, unable to stop a grin. "Why, Mace, is that _tact_ I detect?"

Apparently, the Korun Master fails to find this amusing and keeps talking as though no-one had said anything. "You are in no position to look after him! He can look after himself."

"He _can't_. I'll be fine, but he needs me – now perhaps more than ever!"

"Damn it, Obi-Wan, can't you see that you've already sacrificed everything for this boy? You promised Qui-Gon you'd train him, but you've taken this way too far. You've devoted your entire existence to that boy, and you've developed a dangerous attachment in doing so. If you don't get out now, you'll _literally_ have devoted your existence to him."

"I can't just _pull out_, Mace. It's not that easy."

Mace just snorts and smirks at him.

It takes Obi-Wan a moment to realise what his words sounded like. Before all of _this_, he might have laughed as well, but now he just feels irritated and moody. Is smirking at unintentional entendres all Mace can do when a _war_ has just started – when Obi-Wan is lying in the med ward facing his surreal future of _cripplement_? Crossing his arms as best he can with his shoulder injury, he narrows his eyes and snaps, "Oh, grow up."

Half a second of stunned silence later, Obi-Wan realises that he just snapped at a Council member – even worse, he just snapped at _Mace Windu_, and _no-one_ snaps at _Mace Windu._ It's one thing to snap at Bant, hell, it's even one thing to snap at _Yoda_, but _Mace Windu_? Mace's smirk disappears faster than a jump to hyperspace and Obi-Wan groans and presses a shaky hand to his forehead. "Mace, I…"

"You are _not_ okay. Sith, Kenobi, can't you see what's happening to you? You're gonna kill yourself looking after him!" Mace breaks off with a defeated sigh and shakes his head. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"So do I," Obi-Wan murmurs.

"There's a Council Meeting shortly. I'll come back in a few hours and take you up to your apartment."

First instinct is to politely decline any help whatsoever. Second instinct is more rational – _let's face it, Kenobi, you're not getting there on your own_. It is with a massive blow to his pride that Obi-Wan says, "Thank you, Mace. I appreciate that."

Even Mace looks surprised. "Get some rest," is all he can say, a dark frown plaguing his forehead, before he swiftly leaves, and now Obi-Wan is completely and utterly alone.

For the next few hours, in contemplative silence, Obi-Wan reflects. Not on himself, or Anakin, or his injuries, because he knows that if he does, then he'll start crying, and he isn't ready for that. Acceptance comes at a cost, especially without the Force. If he was in the right state of mind – clarity, instead of this void – he could drift into a light meditation and slowly release the dark emotions clouding his mind. Without the Force, it will take so much longer. Denial, all the way through to acceptance. It could take weeks – precious weeks he doesn't have; precious weeks that _Anakin_ doesn't have.

He knows which stage he's at, and even now, he's doesn't want to acknowledge it. He reflects on the war, keeping himself occupied. The Clone War, is what the Holonet is calling it. A ghastly moniker, he thinks – it makes it sound as though the Republic is the aggressor, rather than the Separatists. Why couldn't it have been called the Separatist Conflict, or the Droid War, something that would have actually made sense and cast the Republic in a defensive, positive light? Why _Clone_ War?

And what will his part be in it, if at all?

Until Mace returns, Obi-Wan amuses himself by modelling offensive strikes on old military tactics used by Revan in the Mandalorian Wars nearly four thousand years ago. The journey back to his apartment is long and silent; his right arm is looped around the Korun Master's shoulders, who is supporting most, if not all, of his weight as he is more or less dragged home. It's late, and for a terrified moment he thinks that Anakin isn't there, but Mace grimaces and eyes Anakin's door nastily when they pass it.

"Is he in there?" Obi-Wan asks softly.

"Yeah. It feels like he's sulking." Obi-Wan can hear Mace muttering under his breath though he's too tired to listen to what, and too tired to defend his Padawan even if he could hear. He wonders if he isn't listening on purpose, so that he isn't expected to defend Anakin, which he really doesn't feel like doing at the moment.

Half-dragged and half-limping to his bed, Obi-Wan looks away to hide his burning face and quietly thanks Mace, who shrugs it off and doesn't hover, silently understanding Obi-Wan's need to keep the barest sliver of pride. For a long time, lying restlessly under his sheets, sleep doesn't come, and he isn't sure whether to be grateful or distressed for this. On one hand, sleep promises refreshment – he's too exhausted, too worn out to think about anything clearly, or even be able to deal with Anakin tomorrow if he chooses to stay awake.

On the other hand, there will be nightmares, with a vividness he hasn't experienced since Qui-Gon's death.

He dreads both, though which one more so he isn't sure.

Part of him wants to go and check in on Anakin, to make sure he's all right, but Mace's words won't leave him alone.

_You are in no position to look after him! He can look after himself._

His eyes burn with the all-too familiar sting of tears but he takes a deep-shuddering breath to control it. _Not now,_ he thinks, _please, not now_. "He needs help, Mace," Obi-Wan whispers, even though is alone. "He's…he's drowning. He's drowning in a sea of darkness, and I think…I think he's pulling me down with him."

* * *

He's going to jump.

Sand and wind lash at your face and sting your eyes, yet you force yourself to keep them open as you jump before your Padawan, balancing precariously on the edge of the speeding LAAT/i. In this moment, there is only you, and Anakin, and the sandstorm blowing violently around you – and he's going to jump if you don't stop him.

"I can't take Dooku alone!" you desperately scream over the rushing wind – anything, to get him to stay, to not _leave_. "_I need you!_"

"I don't care."

You freeze. The roar of the engine becomes a dull droning in the background as you choke out, "What?"

"I don't care," Anakin says again simply, a cold smile twisting on his face. "Why should I care?"

You shake your head. This can't be right, Anakin would never say that. Surely. "Anakin, what are you –"

"You killed her," he says as though you hadn't been talking. "You killed my mother, and I hate you for that, Obi-Wan Kenobi. _Dreams pass in time_, you said. Remember that? You liar. _You_ should be dead, not her."

"No, I didn't know –"

"There's nothing special about _you_. I'm better than you, I'm more powerful than you – you're jealous of me. That's why you held me back…well, look at me now, Obi-Wan. I'm better and more powerful than you could ever dream of being. I can even end your life right now."

He stretches out his arm. For the barest of moments you are confused – it looks like he is holding thin air, his hand forming a tight grasp around an invisible neck.

Then you realise – the neck is yours.

The Force is being wrapped around your throat and Anakin is squeezing, tighter and tighter, and the pressure makes you gag. Your fingernails claw at your neck, tearing your skin and drawing blood but this does nothing to loosen the invisible hand cutting you off from life. You collapse to your knees before your Padawan as dark spots blur your vision, all you can think is _why, why –_ "An'kin – s-stop, I c-can't –"

His once so handsome face is twisted into something ugly. Evil. The laugh is not of humour; scorn fills the air and the vice around your neck loosens. Gaspsing and shuddering before him, on your hands and knees as though you are begging for your life, he grasps your jaw and forces you to look up at him, fingernails digging into your skin. "You were always jealous," he hisses, his blue eyes flaring yellow. You try to jerk away but he holds you firmly by your jaw, making you listen to every horrid, hurtful word. "You were jealous that Qui-Gon wanted me instead of you. I was to be your replacement. Qui-Gon knew I was better than you…he would have been a good Master, much better than you, but I got stuck with you instead. And I hate you."

Somehow, this last statement pains you far more than anything he could have lashed you with Qui-Gon. "No –"

"I've _always_ hated you."

The _hiss_ of a lightsaber being ignited snarls in your ears. You are dropped to the floor of the hangar and the tip of a blood-red lightsaber rests poised against your shoulder. "Anakin – please –" you try to beg, but it's too late, he won't stop, "no, Anakin, NO, NO –"

Agony is your existence, though the brutal twist of Anakin's blood-red lightsaber in your shoulder and then your thigh hurts less, almost feels like _nothing_, in comparison to your heart being ripped in two – a scream is torn from your throat, _Anakin, ANAKIN –_

_Master, Master, wake up –_

"_Anakin, no, please, don't do this, don't – PLEASE, STOP_ –"

"-bi-Wan, you have to wake up –"

"No –"

"Shh, shh, it's all right, you're just dreaming, shh –"

His eyes fly open. There are arms around him, holding him tightly, he can hear his gasping chokes for air, he can feel damp sweaty sheets twisted around his legs, his face wet with tears, and he writhes away from the grasp instinctively. Anakin's terrified face swims into view and Obi-Wan recoils, his stomach churns and bile burning in his throat – _I can even end your life right now_ – but he doesn't have time to run to the 'fresher, who is he kidding, he can't even _walk, _and probably never will again –

Obi-Wan Kenobi rolls over and vomits over the side of his bed.


	13. Lesions

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Twelve –  
Lesions

Anakin shoots up in his bed at the sound, the _feeling_, of terror from his Master's room. A dark, painful feeling infiltrates even his tightest shields – something he's _never_ felt coming from Obi-Wan – as he turns over and debates over whether or not to probe gently at his mind, to discover the source of this unnatural emotion and reach out and give some sort of comfort…but since when is Obi-Wan Kenobi _scared_ of anything?

_That was terribly wrong of him, to manipulate you like that…_

It takes another wave of terror to make him throw off his sheets and pad lightly over to Obi-Wan's room. Resting his palm on the door, he hesitantly reaches out over their bond before opening it, tentatively probing at his Master's mind to determine the source of discomfort. He is surprised when he isn't met with shields, but with pain. Something is definitely wrong. Palming the door open slightly, the sight shocks him.

Obi-Wan is twisting in his sweat-drenched sheets, eyes closed and face contorted in agony. He's having a nightmare, Anakin realises, hearing Bant's words echo in his mind. Obi-Wan hasn't had nightmares since…well, since Qui-Gon's death – ten years. It's weird – almost frightening in itself – to know that his Master, always so cool and collected, is falling apart, and that Anakin is the only witness to his most unguarded moment.

Should he wake him up, or let him sleep through it? It would probably be kinder to rouse him and spare him from whatever terror he can't escape from. As Anakin moves closer, images of biting sand and wind fleet across his mind, and it takes him a moment to realise that they aren't his thoughts – they're Obi-Wan's, his nightmare projecting as though he has no shields to keep them locked in his mind. Temptation tickles the back of his mind; conscious or unconscious, there is no way for Obi-Wan to keep him out of his mind at all. He knows he shouldn't, he knows he has no right, but it's only fair, really, if Obi-Wan played with him to make him talk. Morbid curiosity wins out, and he sits beside his agitated Master before slipping into his mind as easily as turning on a tap.

Sand and wind fill the air in Obi-Wan's dream, and Anakin feels a pang of guilt which he quickly pushes aside. His Master looks as powerful and righteous as that fateful day on Geonosis, a blazing beacon in the Force, his handsome features tight with desperation. "I can't take Dooku alone!" he shouts, his voice clear despite the howling wind. "_I need you!_"

The Dream Anakin looks bored – almost indifferent. "I don't care."

Obi-Wan freezes. "What?"

"I don't care," Dream Anakin says again, a cold smile twisting his features. Anakin stares at this cruel caricature of himself in horror as Obi-Wan shakes his head.

"Anakin, what are you –"

"You killed her," Dream Anakin says. "You killed my mother, and I hate you for that, Obi-Wan Kenobi. _Dreams pass in time_, you said. Remember that? You liar. You should be dead, not her."

A phantom sense of déjà vu makes Anakin feels sick when Obi-Wan shakes his head again, his eyes wide with tears. "No, I didn't know –"

"There's nothing special about you," Dream Anakin spits, and Anakin recoils from himself. "I'm better than you, I'm more powerful than you – you're jealous of me. That's why you held me back…well, look at me now, Obi-Wan. I'm better and more powerful than you could ever dream of being. I can even end your life right now."

Dream Anakin stretches his arm out and grasps an invisible neck – Obi-Wan's neck. Obi-Wan chokes and tears at his throat, his fingernails cutting through his skin and drawing blood in a primal need to breathe. Anakin is frozen; he can't do anything here. It's not real, it's not real – but he is cruelly reminded of that moment in hyperspace where he so desperately wanted to do the exact same thing, coiling the Force around his mentor's neck and squeezing, squeezing, watching Obi-Wan's handsome face contort as he writhes for air –

"An'kin – s-stop, I c-can't –"

Dream Anakin drops him, his face a twisted version of his trademark smirk – the laughter isn't his, he could never sound like that, so mocking, or so cruel. Obi-Wan shudders and gasps for air before Dream Anakin on his hands and knees, and it makes him furious to see his proud Master so weak, before himself. He wonders what he would feel like if this was real, if Obi-Wan really was on his knees before Anakin, begging –

"You were always jealous," it hisses, eyes yellow. Anakin doesn't want to think of it as himself, it's not him, this can't really be what Obi-Wan thinks of – "You were jealous that Qui-Gon wanted me instead of you. I was to be your replacement. Qui-Gon knew I was better than you…he would have been a good Master, much better than you, but I got stuck with you instead. And I hate you."

He must have said that too, or something like that. Anakin's gut clenches as Obi-Wan's face tenses with tears – "No –"

"I've _always _hated you."

Anakin tears himself from his Master's nightmare as the Dream Anakin twists a blood-red lightsaber through Obi-Wan's shoulder and thigh, just like Dooku did – he can't bear this anymore, he can't stand seeing his twisted version of him do this and say these things, it can't be him, it can't be how _Obi-Wan_ sees him –

"Anakin – please –" Obi-Wan moans, tears slipping from his closed lids. Anakin jumps, startled, and reaches out instinctively hold him steady; whether this is to bring comfort to Obi-Wan or to himself, he doesn't know, but only tightens his grip when Obi-Wan moans again, his garbled words becoming louder and more desperate, "No, Anakin, _no, no_, Anakin, ANAKIN –"

"Master," Anakin croaks, "Master, wake up –" He can't listen to this anymore.

"Anakin, no, please, don't do this, don't – _please, stop_ –"

"Obi-Wan, you have to wake up –"

"No –"

"Shh, shh," he hisses, not out of comfort but rather out of terror, "it's all right, you're just dreaming, shh –"

Obi-Wan's eyes fly open and he gasps for air. He writhes in Anakin's grasp, recoiling from him, then pushes Anakin away with a strength he would have thought impossible from a man in his condition, and rolls over and vomits over the side of his bed, choking and heaving. The foul scent of bile makes Anakin gag, but he still finds the courage within himself to rest a hand on Obi-Wan's sweat-soaked back. His Master shudders and collapses back on his bed, wiping away the vomit from around his lips and beard with the back of a trembling hand, eyes closed and face wet with tears he shed during the nightmare. The only sounds in the air are their heavy breaths and the drone of passing Coruscanti traffic. It's almost disgusting to see him this pathetic, a mockery of the man he used to be, and Anakin is torn between the vulgar satisfaction of finally seeing his Master fall and the forever present guilt for making him like that.

Anakin knows he should say something, or start helping Obi-Wan out of his sweaty pyjamas, or help him over to the 'fresher to get cleaned up, but instead all he seems capable of doing is blurting out, "Did I really say those things?"

Obi-Wan looks at him through lowered eyelashes and murmurs, "Not exactly."

In Obi-Wan Speak, that means 'yes, from a certain point of view'; even Anakin isn't dim enough to not have picked up the semi-code his Master likes to talk in over the decade they have been together. "I didn't mean them," Anakin insists. _Please believe me, I didn't mean what I said, I'm sorry –_

Obi-Wan only turns his head towards his pillow and whispers, "Yes you did."

Anakin flinches away, burned, and opens his mouth to say _something_, but nothing forms in his mind and he gapes wordlessly.

"Go back to bed, Anakin."

He leaves quickly, head bowed and fists clenched, but because he is ashamed of the never-ending tears threatening to break free, not because Obi-Wan told him to.

…'_not hating' you isn't quite the same as, well, _not blaming_ you, or even_ loving_ you…_

* * *

Anakin Skywalker has always liked his pillow. After having nightmares when he was younger, on the rare nights Obi-Wan was away and when it was finally decided that the Padawan was too old to be sneaking into his bed, Anakin would curl his arms around the pillow and rest his cheek on it, and pretend it was Obi-Wan, keeping him safe from the terrors of the night until morning. He stopped using the sad thing when he was into his late teenage years – after all, what teenage boy could look their strong, brave Master in the eye to prove that one day they too would be just like them, if they couldn't go through the night without pretending they needed someone with them?

Long-gone tears now stain the overused pillow where his head lies buried in it; his arms tightly encircling the ragged material where he vented the rage, tears and frustration, his fists pummelling into the soft body until he had no strength left. Sometimes the pillow was Mace Windu, for the permanent scowl and disapproval whenever he set eyes on him – more often than not, it had been Obi-Wan, defenceless and at his mercy, and Anakin felt sick after that. Most recently, pillow-turned-punching-bag had been Palpatine.

Anakin has never harboured hatred for the kindly Chancellor, but now he hates him almost as much as he hated the Sand People – not enough to take a speeder to slaughter him, but enough to wish he'd never spoken to him. He can't get those words, those awful damning words about Obi-Wan _tricking_ him and _blaming_ him out of his head, and he hates the Chancellor for putting them there.

He hates the Chancellor for the fact that he was _right_.

Obi-Wan blames him. He blames him for leaving him, and he blames him for his injuries – but most of all, Anakin blames himself.

He doesn't look up when he hears his door open or feels Obi-Wan's presence like a wound in the Force when he enters the room, only acknowledging the older man with a slight turn of his head when he limps over to his bed and sits down on it, breathing loudly whent he weight is taken off his leg. "Anakin…" Obi-Wan starts softly, "I'm sorry, about last night."

Sorry? Sorry for what? For having a nightmare, or for throwing up, or for more or less admitting he blamed him? "You do blame me," Anakin says dully.

"You and I both know my injuries were caused by Dooku –"

If he's going to lie about it, Anakin thinks, the least he could do is make is _sound_ as though be believed it himself. "You said you didn't hate me."

"I don't. Why won't you believe me?"

"I believe _that_. Not hating isn't the same as not blaming. Your dream –"

"Was just a dream, nothing more."

"_Dreams pass in time_," he is unable to stop himself from mocking nastily, his lips twisted into a disgusted scowl. He is pleased to see Obi-Wan flinch, as burned as he felt last night. Although he does not show it, he is horrified by what he has said, even as he takes pleasure in seeing his Master squirm guiltily. Obi-Wan says nothing – it's possible, Anakin thinks with awe, that he doesn't actually _know_ what to say. There is little doubt Obi-Wan knows that 'sorry' isn't going fix anything or placate Anakin now. If anything, he will probably start screaming again if Obi-Wan tries to say this.

Or, he isn't sorry at all, because Obi-Wan Kenobi doesn't believe in saying sorry if he doesn't mean it. This makes another disgusted scowl plague his face. "He was right about you."

"Who's 'he'?" Obi-Wan asks. Anakin presses his lips together, determined not to answer; Obi-Wan has made it no secret that he disapproves of his friendship with the Chancellor. Obi-Wan frowns, realising Anakin's intentions, and tries a different angle, no doubt hoping to force him into talking. "Anakin, where is all of this coming from?"

"Stop it," Anakin snaps, "just stop it! Stop trying to manipulate me –"

"_Manipulate_ you?"

The sheer shock in Obi-Wan's exclaimation makes doubt cloud Anakin's mind, but he keeps going. He can't stop himself anymore. It's like some self-harming addiction, a slow poison that is eating away at him that he keeps coming back to for more, and he doesn't know why he does _anything_ anymore. He has to be right about this, he _has_ to be right about Obi-Wan twisting his thoughts, otherwise everything he's thought and let himself believe will have been wrong and it would just give Obi-Wan another reason hate him. And if Obi-Wan blames him and hates him, then at least he'd have been _right_ and not turning against him again for no reason. "You tricked me into telling you about my mother's death, just like you tricked me into telling you about everything else just you can go off and tell the Council, I know you did –"

"Anakin Skywalker, you will stop this nonsense! Force help me, I haven't the strength to deal with this now. I don't know what brought this on or who told you I blamed you and made you think that I _manipulated_ you or tricked you into anything, but I always thought I'd earned your trust. I haven't told the Council anything –"

Palpatine's words spur him on. "You took advantage of me!"

"While I'm flattered you believe I was in a position to _make_ you talk about it after a week-long coma, I can assure that I most certainly did _not_. All I want to do is help you – and all I know is, in that moment in hyperspace, you trusted me enough to tell me what was troubling you, and now you don't. Something happened since then and now that's made you like this. These…these aren't your words."

A trembling, fearful feeling infiltrates his chest and makes his heart hammer harder. He can't sense any deception from Obi-Wan. The man can't lie to save his life. Tell truths from certain points of views, yes, but he's never usually so straightforward, so perceptive about his Padawan. The tar clinging to his mind pushes him further, desperate to prove Palpatine right, desperate to prove _himself_ right. "Why are you here? Why aren't you telling the Council? I bet Windu can't wait to throw me out of the Order."

"You're not going anywhere."

"Why?"

"You asked me to help you, Anakin. You might not remember anything else from what you told me, but surely you remember that. I didn't trick you into asking that of me, no more than I could trick you into telling me anything else, least of all how much you hate me."

Is this his future? he wonders. Is it is destiny to end up haunted by his careless, volatile words for the rest of his life? Is this what he has condemned Obi-Wan to, believing that he is hated by the man who he once considered his closest friend? That he has condemned _himself_ to push everyone he has ever cared about away? "I don't hate you –"

"You're not doing a very good job of showing that."

He might as well have been slapped. "I didn't mean what I said."

Obi-Wan sighs. "I know you didn't, and I'm sorry for what I said last night. I was…not myself, and I let my emotional state get the better of me. Up until now, I've always been able to release it into the Force."

"Why can't you access the Force?" Anakin demands. "The sedatives should have worn off by now."

Obi-Wan hesitates before admitting, "They have."

"Oh." Then the problem really is with him. He can't pretend anymore. Anakin has been under the influence of Force Suppressants before, as has Obi-Wan. He knows what it is like to go without the Force, but the feelings emitting from Obi-Wan are different to what he would have expected. With a Force Suppressor, he knew the Force was around him – it was just as though there was a thick block of durasteel around him, preventing him from reaching it. Obi-Wan feels like a gash, a freshly cut lesion in the Force, a pit of emptiness. "What does it…what does it feel like?"

_Even though I can see and hear, it feels like I have been blinded and deafened to the world. Like I'm trying to breathe underwater, but my lungs keep filling up with water. Like I have lost a limb except there is a black hole where the phantom pain echoes. Like I'm bleeding and losing more and more blood by the second, but can't find the wound to staunch the flow…_

Either not noticing or pretending not to notice Anakin's ashen face, Obi-Wan forces a smile onto his face that doesn't reach his eyes and says lightly, "It's a bit like a Force Suppressant, but we're both used to those enough. It will pass." Anakin holds back the nausea. Even now, Obi-Wan tries to protect him from the truth, after everything, without realising that he can _hear_ him and can feel the gaping lesion in the Force where he sits beside him. Anakin stays mute, not trusting himself to say anything.

"I didn't manipulate you," Obi-Wan insists softly when the silence lingers for far too long, his blue-green eyes strained with honesty and pain. Somehow he manages to keep his voice pure – there is no waver, no hitch of the agony he is silently enduring. "I don't hate you, I don't blame you – haven't these ten years shown you anything about how much I care about you?"

"You never said anything."

"Did you need me to?" Obi-Wan lashes out at him, and Anakin is satisfied to see his temper finally snap. "That's the thing with you, Anakin, you've always needed _more_, more affection, more reassurance, more praise – you could never settle. You've never been able to understand that I've given you all the Jedi Code allows me to give –"

"_Fuck_ the Code, then –"

"Don't make me wash your mouth out with soap, you know I will!"

"I'm not a child anymore, Obi-Wan! When will you stop treating me like one?"

"When you stop _acting_ like one!"

"I'm _not_. I'm twenty standard years old, I don't need you anymore!"

"So I see," Obi-Wan patronises, an eyebrow raised.

"_Shut up!_ You do this all the time! You – you're overly critical of me in everything and you never listen, you don't _understand_ –"

"I'm listening to you _now_."

"Well it's a bit late for that, isn't it!" The shameful prickling feeling of tears burns his eyes again. Force, will the tears never end? Why is he crying so darn much, he _never_ does this, he is _never_ this weak, least of all before Obi-Wan. "It's too late for you to – to make things _better_ like you always do, and it's too late for me to save my mum, and it's too late for me to not leave you do face Dooku on your own, and it's too late to prove to Padmé that I _can_ do my duty, and – and – it's too damn _late_ for me to take back half the things I've said and done and it's too late to earn your trust back –"

"No, Anakin," Obi-Wan interrupts firmly, "it's _not_ too late for you to earn back my trust. For most of those things, yes, but for that? Never. I don't know who made you think my intentions were anything less than honest, or for what purpose, but they were _wrong_. I've only ever had your best interests at heart, my young Padawan. Search your feelings, Anakin. Your _true_ feelings, not this anger that you're using to defend yourself from them. You asked me to help you, and I cannot in good conscience ignore that. I will not take you before the Council unless you let it get that far."

He's infuriatingly right, frustratingly honest, just like he has always been. There is no lie, no manipulation, no _certain point of view_. Obi-Wan has always been able to understand Anakin where he himself has not or refuses to, even now. While he has not always known what Anakin needs, Obi-Wan still knows Anakin better than Anakin knows himself. But is there no limit with this man? Just how far can he be pushed before he's had enough and leaves, just like everyone else – just like Qui-Gon, and his mother, and Padmé? How much can he take – _why_ is he taking it? What more can Anakin possibly do to make Obi-Wan turn away, how much more of his ill-will can he possibly receive? Barely realising what he is doing, Anakin raises his arm, ready to strike his Master, tears clouding his vision and a choking sob catching in his throat.

"Let me help you." He catches Anakin's falling arm gently with his good hand, his trembling fingers curling loosely around his Padawan's wrist – even without the Force, even in pain, his reflexes are incredible. With an intimacy he's rarely, if ever, shown before, Obi-Wan entwines his fingers through Anakin's and pulls it down between them. "Let me help _us_."

In that moment, Anakin realises. Obi-Wan is not a weak, shadow of a man he thought him to be. This man, before him, although without the Force and permanently crippled, is not a victim, least of all to Anakin. For who is the stronger – the one who wields the most power, or the quiet presence on the side who picks the powerful one up every time he falls? He has never had a hold over this man – physically, he could kill him in a heartbeat, but Obi-Wan will always, _always_, have the emotional and mental upper hand. And finally, in one suspended second, he lets go.

Whether Palpatine deliberately misled him or genuinely believed Obi-Wan was manipulating him, Anakin doesn't know, yet it no longer matters when he casts aside every single bitter feeling, every single cruel thought, every morsel of undue hatred he has held towards his Master and lowers his head onto Obi-Wan's uninjured shoulder, releasing a shuddering sigh and encircles his arms around his waist. There is nothing else but him and his Master, right now, no war, no Palpatine, nothing. Just him, and Obi-Wan, and everything that has every made him that he has just handed over to Obi-Wan, and which Obi-Wan takes like he has always taken. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realises Obi-Wan is talking.

"…Perhaps we should…go away for a while. For as long as it takes, for as long as we need. No Council, no war, no – no distractions. Just…us."

Blindly, Anakin nods into Obi-Wan's robes, his fists tightening in the fabric. _Nothing you can do will ever make me hate you. I may not like or approve of the things you do, but I will never hate you, Padawan. Never._

He tightens his hold around Obi-Wan's waist. It was everything he has wanted and needed to know, to hear, since Qui-Gon's death and since leaving his mother, since becoming Obi-Wan's apprentice. The words softly filter through his mind, as painful as the day he heard them because everything he's ever thought about Obi-Wan was _wrong_, but so _right_ at the same time because he _was_ wrong, his Master doesn't blame him and he doesn't hate him and he didn't manipulate him. He wants to cry but there are no more tears left, wasted on anger and false beliefs, but when Obi-Wan sighs and relaxes in Anakin's embrace, the Padawan looks up, shocked and amazed by the sight that greets him.

Obi-Wan is crying.

It isn't very dramatic, considering this is the first time Anakin has ever seen his stoic Master cry. Ever contained, ever serene, not even his face gives anything away of whatever is going on inside him. He seems as calm as ever, except that tears trickle slowly down his cheek. There are no stifled sobs, no hitching breaths, no jerking shoulders, no melodrama like it is when Anakin cries. Only one tear after another, slipping free from beneath closed lashes, noiselessly making their way down Obi-Wan's face and into his beard. But strangely, the complete lack of emotions on Obi-Wan's face make these tears all the more unbearable to Anakin. First impulse is to reach up and wipe them away, but there is something almost beautifully hypnotic in the way he loses control in such a contradictory restrained manner that he can only watch, entranced. Everything about it is so typically _Obi-Wan_.

The flicker of candlelight from hyperspace, when he lay in Obi-Wan's arms, has long since died, but now the leering shadows are recoiling, as though the two blazing suns of Tatooine themselves are burning them away.


	14. A Certain Point Of View

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Thirteen –  
A Certain Point Of View

Stopping on Dantooine to 'refuel' in order to reach Coruscant is not one of my better excuses, considering our tank is not even half-empty and there is more than enough to make it to the Core. Still, it is undeniably effective, and I listen to Anakin's transmission once more before we breach the atmosphere.

"_Padmé, it's me. Um, yeah, so I don't have much time, and I hope I've caught you in space…Master Obi-Wan and me – I mean, I – are on Dantooine on sabbatical. I'd…I'd like to see you again, if you've got time. Or if you're not already on Coruscant. Otherwise you don't need to come. Um. Yeah. I…I love you."_

He'd given me his coordinates and his place of temporary residence. Against my better judgement, I told Captain Panaka to schedule a stop on Dantooine. I know I shouldn't go, but I really do need to see Anakin. He sounded…not lost, but a little perplexed or unsure of himself in a good way, and this doesn't even make sense to myself. It will ease my own conscious to see if he is well – Obi-Wan, too.

It's midday, Dantooine Standard Time, when we touch down. I slip away easily while we 'refuel' to find the small residence. I knock on the door – there is no ringer or comm unit. Dantooine has always struck me as rather primitive, a farmer's world, such a contrast to the technological majesty of Coruscant or the culture of Naboo. Still, it is the perfect place for retreat, quiet and out of the way. At least for now. Who knows with the war?

When the door is opened, I am not greeted by Anakin, but rather by Obi-Wan.

To say I'm shocked is an understatement.

Obi-Wan Kenobi has always been a handsome man. I confess, without shame, that during my late teenage years I indulged in the occasional erotic fantasy about him, prompted by my physical and intellectual attraction to him. There is none now – there was never much to begin with. There was no burning passion, none of the smouldering excitement that I now feel with Anakin. Now that I think about it, there never truly could have been – there is a certain tenderness and refinement about Obi-Wan that, although retains my admiration, could never completely draw me to him, at least romantically. Just as well; I don't think I'd ever be able to look either Anakin or Obi-Wan in the eyes again if I held passion for both apprentice and Master.

Although no less handsome, per se, he looks old, as though the weight of the Senate on the eve of war rests on his very shoulders. The dancing laughter and light in his blue-green eyes is gone, replaced by a haunted look of desolation; he holds himself stiffly, in a defensive posture. And his hands…

Obi-Wan has always had such beautiful hands. Calloused from gripping his lightsaber, yes, but they were always so fine, so delicate, as tender and as gracious as an aristocrat's. To see them trembling uncontrollably is upsetting – to see him hide them behind him in effort to spare me the sight, or in his own shame, is heartbreaking.

"Master Kenobi," I manage to ease out amicably, "it is good to see you. I am sorry I did not get the chance to talk to you on Geonosis."

"Likewise, Senator," he says warmly, but with a confused and frankly surprised smile. Anakin must have neglected to mention that I was coming. "However did you get here?"

"I received a transmission from Anakin, but I didn't intend to intrude. We needed to refuel, however, so I thought I might say hello and see how he's holding up before I depart in a few hours."

Obi-Wan nods and stands aside. "Please, come in."

"Thank you."

I follow him to the kitchen, trying not to wince every time he limps, and he asks, "Would you like something to drink? You must be tired after your journey. I'm about to make some tea for myself, if you'd like some."

I am tired, but I don't tell him this. "That would be nice."

He makes the tea in silence; neither of us mention his shaking hands, and I take care not to stare. I'm not really thirsty but I accept the cup anyway, taking a few sips before letting it rest on the counter. Obi-Wan keeps his hands wrapped around the beverage.

"Where is Anakin?" I ask.

"He is out with a few locals, hunting Iriaz."

Perhaps I am imagining it, but he looks almost relieved that Anakin is out. Before I can analyse this, he continues: "It is fortunate you are here, Senator," he says evenly, his unwavering tone surprising me. "I need to discuss something with you regarding Anakin."

He sounds so calm. I know what this is about, but that doesn't make me any less apprehensive.

"What exactly is the nature of your relationship with him?"

Well, that was blunt. I blink a little in surprise. Obi-Wan has always been a subtle man, having a way with words like a seasoned politician – it is a little jarring to hear him get so quickly to the point. Is it a testament, perhaps, to his mental state? I glance away for the barest of moments before meeting his eyes again. "We are friends," I say carefully. "We care for each other."

"He is in love with you."

Although I feel the pit of my stomach drop, I keep my Senator Mask in place.

"And you are in love with him."

He is too perceptive – I cannot deny this. "Yes," I admit, but I do not cower.

His jaw tightens. "I am aware that you told Anakin you cannot pursue a relationship with him. I am grateful to you for that. He would not have listened to anyone else."

I bow my head, even as his words pain me. "I was disappointed in him. He was…selfish. I thought that he would find a balance between me and his duty, but…he can't." I dare not begin to think over what I told Anakin that day on Geonosis – it will bring up too many painful, fresh memories that I have no desire to relive. I am not ashamed of my choice; just wounded.

Obi-Wan, at least, looks the slightest bit less anxious.

"You made the right choice," he murmurs. "Not just for Anakin. For yourself as well."

At my questioning glance, he continues, "He plays games with the people he gets close to, as if he's testing to see how much he can get out of them. But he just doesn't understand – they give him everything they are capable of giving, and _still_ it never seems to be enough."

I get the sudden, chilling feeling that he's not just talking about people in general.

"I…I feel like I'm going to lose my mind," he says in a low voice, as if he is musing out loud, forgetting my presence completely. "He just keeps on pushing me towards an edge he thinks exists. I thought it never did, thought there was never a breaking point, but now…I'm not sure. I just don't know. What if there is an edge – a borderline that he'll one day push me over? What if one day, I just can't take it anymore? Then who'll be there for him? He does it with everyone – he drives them away to see if they _do_ fall, but he doesn't want to." Obi-Wan takes a deep breath and adjusts his weight against the countertop, rubbing his exhausted eyes with the heel of his palm. "He's getting better," he amends, remembering I'm here, "but I'm still worried about him."

Curiously – surprisingly – it's not Anakin _I'm_ worried about. Not anymore – not with Obi-Wan here, looking after him. I'm worried about Obi-Wan and the way he's talking about everything as if the galaxy itself has taken its toll on him – worried because if these unnatural, weighted thoughts continue in this same despairing and almost numb manner, he'll lose himself. Worried because, if Obi-Wan truly _is_ all right, he would not have just told me all of that, as if he has no strength to keep his thoughts in. There's something about him that I just can't place, something that I know is important, but he's hiding it too well.

"How do _you_ feel?" Immediately I regret the generic question – how many other times must be have been asked the very same thing? His eyes flash uncharacteristically with irritation, but the look is gone as quickly as it came.

"I'm fine, Senator, thank you."

Polite and patient but not genuine. It's almost as though he's trying to convince himself of it.

And then I realise.

I've seen this before. A little more than ten years ago, after the Naboo Crisis, there were so many grieving families. Parents who lost their children, captains who lost limbs – it would start off like this. Even Captain Typho, when he lost his eye. He seemed fine, but palace psychiatrists told me he was losing his grip on reality. Total denial – he couldn't accept he'd never be able to see out of that eye again. He would always say "I'm fine" and desperately try to make others believe him.

I didn't, so I did the only thing I could think of and forced him into the next stage which I had come to realise was an essential part of his healing process. I was not gentle about it – he would not have appreciated coddling, and afterwards thanked me for my straight-forward approach.

There are two ways I can take hold of this conversation. I can gently talk to Obi-Wan, soothe him, and treat him like a glass sculpture with a fracture – or, I can treat him like the strong-minded man I know him to be.

Jedi aren't supposed to get angry, but frankly, as a mere mortal, I believe that simply 'releasing' emotions or whatever it is they do isn't enough for something as big as this. Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Jedi – but he is first and foremost a man, even though the entire blasted Holier-Than-Thou Order has forgotten this.

"You're not fine," I contradict sternly. "I'm not blind. This won't go away on its own, Master Kenobi, and you're going to have to deal with it sooner or later."

I'm still not entirely sure what 'this' is, but I suspect it's a volatile combination of his injuries and Anakin's troubles which almost seem to be more Obi-Wan's than his.

"You sound just like Bant," Obi-Wan mutters. I don't know who this Bant is, nor do I get a chance to ask when he continues in an insistent, but not confident, voice, "It's Anakin who needs help."

Another diversion, another distraction – he's not intentionally using Anakin for his own selfish purposes, I know that much, but he's devoted himself to him as a way to avoid his own issues. "Obi-Wan," I say, using the voice I usually reserve for the Senate, "you need to help yourself first, before you can help him. How can you when you're going through this?"

'This', I think, is the grief over the past two weeks that he has not let come to pass. He sounds defeated, almost lost, when he breathes a soft, meaningless sigh and looks down at the cup of tea his hands. "Right now, Senator, I think the only way to help myself is to save him."

For a moment, I'm not sure if I heard him correctly. "What?" I blurt out, just as the porcelain cup slips from his trembling fingers and shatters to the floor, dark tea splashing everywhere. I gasp and jump back instinctively as the shards and boiling liquid flick at the hem of my dress. The blast never reached my ears, drowned out by the startled hammering of my heart. I press a hand to my mouth and I glance back at Obi-Wan. He hadn't moved at all, looking down at the pieces in the dark liquid with an expression I can only categorise as mild surprise. He blinks and he looks at his hands, which are shaking from the nerve damage and muscle spasms.

I am not a woman who hates easily, but I can honestly say that I've never hated anyone more than I hate Dooku more than in this moment.

Silence reigns for too long. I know I should say something, but Obi-Wan's face tenses and he starts to laugh.

I've seldom heard Obi-Wan laugh before, but when I did it was beautiful – eyes sparkling and a heartening sound that makes anyone want to laugh along with him. This laugh is not him. It's something foreign, something so out-of-character for him, that I realise that I have just pushed him into the very different and very dangerous state of mind I had tried to. Hysterically, he throws his head back and I wince as it collides with the cabinet, but he doesn't seem to notice or care. He looks at me with unseeing, painful eyes, his laughter morphing into hitching gasps of air.

"Look at me," he spits, voice thick with a poisonous self-loathing I never thought I'd hear from him. "Look at my hands! How can this be happening? I can't hold a cup without dropping it – what about a lightsaber? _This weapon is your life_ –"

I can't stop myself from taking a step back in shock – it is one thing to see Anakin get angry and hysterical, since I expect that of him. It's quite another to see Obi-Wan Kenobi get angry – in fact, it's scarier, to see this usually calm and collected man just snap.

"– I can barely _walk_, and I'm stuck here like a cripple while everyone else risks their lives in the war – why is this happening? Why – why –?" he chokes out, then staggers against the counter, running his hands through his auburn hair. "I shouldn't be like this," he mutters viciously, "this is wrong."

My mouth works on its own accord. "You're angry," I say. "It's all right, Obi-Wan. It's human to be angry. You're only human."

His normally soft and kindly eyes harden. "Is that what you told Anakin after he slaughtered a tribe of Tusken Raiders?" he snaps.

Striking me across the face would have been kinder – not because of his tone, or the furious words of accusation, but because it is completely and utterly the truth.

I don't think I've ever felt more ashamed of myself than I do right now.

"What else did you tell him? You encouraged his feelings for you, didn't you – I trusted you both to keep things professional but you didn't, he's in love with you and that's why he jumped after you, that's why he left me, I trusted him to be there at my back but he went after _you_, he chose _you_ instead and now I'm – I'm –" He breaks off and presses his hands to his face. "No," he whispers. "No, I don't mean that. I don't."

Except he does – perhaps not consciously, but subconsciously he means every word and the worst part it, they're damnably true. Tears are streaming down my face and I don't know whether they're from his hurtful words or because I can't stand seeing my friend in such pain. I pray it is the latter – I despise being so self-centred.

He tries to push me away when I direct him to his bedroom, and snaps at me that he is not an invalid – then looks as though he is about to cry when he realises that, yes, he _is_ an invalid. There is no more verbal accusation after that, though I can just about feel it rage within him internally. Part of me wants him to scream at me, lash out physically, but it seems that, even angry and in a stage of grief, Obi-Wan Kenobi is still able to control himself.

I leave him and return to the kitchen to clean up the shattered cup and spilt tea. Anakin should be back soon – and I need to talk with him before he reaches Obi-Wan. As I collect the sharp pieces and discard them, I think gratefully, thank the Force Anakin wasn't here to witness that.

* * *

"He _what?_"

Shocked, perhaps outraged, Anakin does what he has always done and reacts with his emotions first and thinks about it later.

Anakin is an intense man, and not for the first time, I worry that perhaps he is _too_ intense. It is both flattering and frightening to receive his heated gazes – the way he looks at me sometimes reminds me of a starved Kath hound eyeing a piece of meat. It is raw lust, a feeling I am familiar with, but it's intimidating.

But for all of his angular, matured features, and the depth of his emotions, he's still just a boy. Anakin Skywalker is not a man, not yet. I love him for his ability to feel…but he feels too much, too intensely, and he can't follow his head, only his heart. It is a potent combination, almost dangerous. I hadn't seen it before, on Naboo or Geonosis, when I was sure I was going to die. I had seen it on Tatooine but I pushed it from my mind, unwilling to remember or acknowledge. What if I had never seen it, or seen it too late, or continued to ignore it? What then?

Now, however, is not the time to be thinking about this. I sigh, and repeat myself.

"Obi-Wan lashed out today, about his injuries."

Anakin shakes his head. "That doesn't make sense. He's been so calm about everything."

"No. He wasn't being calm. It was numbness – denial. Denial was his temporary defence," I explain. "It was the first of five clinical stages of grief, and now he's at the second. Anger."

"Obi-Wan doesn't get angry."

I feel like shaking the boy. "Everyone gets angry, Anakin. I'm sure Obi-Wan does too, he just doesn't show it." When Anakin turns his head away, I grasp his jaw with my fingers and make him look back at me. He needs to hear this, and frankly, I don't care how much he doesn't want to. "Ani, listen to me," I order. "He's in a fragile state of mind right now. He might…say things he doesn't mean. He might lash out at you, blame you –"

"But he doesn't! He said he didn't blame me!"

For goodness' sake, didn't he hear a word I just said? "You're not listening to me!" I snap. "He will say things he_ doesn't mean_. You can't take it to heart! It's just a natural part of the stages of grief he's going through. He blamed me earlier, but he didn't mean it, at least not consciously. It's all a defensive mechanism that he needs to experience. He's _looking_ to cast blame to help him make sense of things. He'll probably even find a way to blame Master Yoda for not getting there soon enough. It's not about you."

He's silent. I hope I've gotten through to him, so I continue. "After that, he'll bargain, think things like, 'I'll give up so-and-so to get so-and-so', trading in one thing for another."

"What comes next?" he asks eventually.

"Depression. He might become silent, unresponsive, refuse visitors, spend much of his time crying…grieving. When this happens, don't try to 'cheer' him up. It's probably best to just leave him alone completely."

"Why?"

He looks so tragically devastated that I want to hold him in arms until he feels better – but I don't, because I need to get him to understand this instead of indulging distraction. "It's an important time for him that lets him come to terms with his injuries. It's not defensive at this stage – it's the start of acceptance, and, no offence, Anakin, but your presence may be…detrimental, at this point."

I know I am being harsh but he needs the truth – while Anakin is not to be completely held accountable for Obi-Wan's mental state, from what I know of the story he contributes significantly and could make everything worse if he interrupts Obi-Wan's healing. He has the grace to flush, and to his credit, he doesn't lose his temper. At least not outwardly.

"How do you know so much about all of this?" he asks.

"Many of my people during the Trade Federation Blockade suffered much in the invasion. Many lost families, a lot of soldiers lost limbs – I taught myself to recognise the symptoms."

Anakin casts a helpless glance in the direction of Obi-Wan's bedroom. "Will he be all right?"

"As soon as he comes out of the acceptance stage, then yes. He should be fine. Mentally, at any rate."

Finally, I can't think of anything else to say, and together we fall silent. It takes a few moments until we instinctively move closer together like two magnets, his arms around my waist and my hands cupping his face.

"I still love you," he murmurs, his lips grazing against my cheek. My face burns where he kisses me and I close my eyes, enjoying the fires he stirs within me – but at the same time, there is a guilt I never imagined I'd feel. I submit myself to one more heated kiss and pull away gently, keeping my hands on his firm chest to stop him from leaning closer again. I want to say 'I love you' back, but I can't. The more I say it, the more Anakin devotes himself to me.

It's dangerous that I _want_ him to devote himself to me, and myself to him. I have a planet to represent and a war to fight with words and politics – I can't let myself get caught up in this. I also have a responsibility to Obi-Wan's and Anakin's well-beings. If I submit, if I let Anakin take me, that will be it – a point of no return.

I breathe deeply and close my eyes. "Oh, Anakin. If only we were different people," I whisper, gathering my courage to say the words I said on Geonosis. My loathing for them makes them no less true. "Remember what I told you."

"Duty," he murmurs, saving me from having to repeat my speech, and his eyes fall bitterly.

I nod, both pleased and overwhelmed with grief that he actually has listened. I feel disgusted with myself – I'm such a hypocrite. "Yes," I agree. "Duty. Mine to my planet and the Senate, and yours to the Jedi and to Obi-Wan. Don't fail him, Anakin. Don't fail yourself."

_Don't abandon him again_, is what I'm desperately trying to say, _he needs you more than I need you, and you need him more than you need me_. He has never struck me as a subtle person, always needing things spelt out for him, but he understands my unspoken words. He stands back, burned, but I am resolute. I love Anakin, but I know how to balance my passion for him with my passion for politics. Anakin doesn't know how to balance his – it's one or the other with him, and he still doesn't know how to choose, _which_ to choose.

So I've chosen for him.

He will understand one day, and thank me for it, even as it breaks my heart. I hold his hand tightly and force him to meet my eyes as I say goodbye. There is no parting kiss here, not like on Geonosis. I will see him again – our emotions are too closely entangled to ever truly break free – but for now, time and distance is what we both need and I cannot jeopardise our paths in destiny by conceding to our selfish desires.

As I board my ship, I begin to prepare my address to the Senate, hoping it will distract me. I cannot seem to get past the generic opening…this isn't working. I throw down my datapad with disgust just as Captain Panaka instructs the pilots to make the jump to hyperspace. I can't get Anakin out of my mind.

I do not feel like a Senator here. I feel like a woman abandoned by love, on the brink of tears and the bane of the universe. When, I think bitterly, did love become so selfish? Love, true love, is supposed to be selfless and beautiful; a gift, not a burden.

I wish Anakin could see this. Obi-Wan can – that's why he did what he did, denying himself to help Anakin. Because he loves him, so purely that I actually envy him. And this is why my personal morals will not let me come between them to tip Anakin's balance – I cannot give Anakin what Obi-Wan can.

But I _can_ give it to my people.

I am Padmé Naberrie, Senator Amidala of Naboo, and I am strong enough for this.


	15. INTERLUDES

_Disclaimer:_ _This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– INTERLUDES –

The night Padmé leaves for Coruscant, Anakin knocks gently on his Master's door. Hearing no reply, he calls out, "Master, I've made dinner. Are you hungry?"

Two minutes pass by and Anakin begins to suspect that Obi-Wan has ignored him. Remembering Padmé's words, fresh and melodic in his mind, to not take this personally – and it takes a great deal of effort to do so – he sighs and moves away, only to jump a moment later when Obi-Wan's door opens sharply and his Master limps past him, a dark frown on his forehead.

"The last time I ate something you made, Anakin, I had to lock myself in the 'fresher for five hours, so forgive me if I'm less than enthusiastic about your latest concoction," he more or less snarls.

"I was only fourteen!" Anakin snaps, unable to control the hurt from his Master's cruel jab transforming into a bubbling crucible of anger. "I –"

"You were reading off a recipe and you _still_ managed to practically poison me!" Obi-Wan snaps back. "Age is no excuse to not know when to _follow instructions_, since _apparently_ you can't even do that now that you're _twenty!_"

As clueless as he sometimes is, Anakin can hear what Obi-Wan is _really_ saying – and it has absolutely nothing to do with lethal past attempts at cooking. Feeling sick, Anakin gapes wordlessly, his numb mind searching for a defence, a comeback, anything to refute the bitter accusation because he can't mean what he thinks he means, it isn't his fault, Obi-Wan doesn't blame him –

_He's in a fragile state of mind right now. He might…say things he doesn't mean. He might lash out at you, blame you…_

_It's not about you._

Anakin follows his Master into the dining room. "I didn't put any chilli in it this time," he eventually says.

"Well it's good to know that you can do _something_ right," Obi-Wan mutters nastily.

It's not just shocking to witness Obi-Wan Kenobi lose control like this – it's nothing short of terrifying. Anakin can't get angry with this man, however much he wants to. He knows exactly which buttons to press, exactly which words will wound him the most – just like what Anakin did in hyperspace.

_Don't fail him_, Padmé's voice reminds him. _Don't fail yourself_.

He takes the blows and serves the meal, which he's actually quite proud of. (The time before the Chilli Incident, Anakin tried to make a cup of tea. Needless to say, Mace Windu was not amused when he discovered the Padawan had somehow managed to burn down the apartment, as well as four surrounding residences.) The fact that it's edible is a tremendous feat in itself which keeps him occupied while Obi-Wan seethes his inner turmoils, unable to release them any other way.

"See, Master?" Anakin can't help but say when they've finished. "It wasn't too bad."

"Do you expect me to be proud or _jealous_ of you for that?" Obi-Wan sneers viciously, and Anakin flinches as though he has been backhanded. "Or maybe you think it's _my_ fault you've never been able to cook anything edible before because I was _holding you back_ from developing your skills. I'm sure Qui-Gon would have made a brilliant Master for you, much better than me, since he _loved_ cooking and would have _understood_ your talent with food!"

Anakin is too dumbstruck to even think clearly as his Master limps away without a backwards glance, and he hears the bedroom door slam shut behind him.

The sheer absurdity of the outburst might have been funny had Anakin not known what Obi-Wan was really talking about.

His pillow becomes a punching bag that night again, but curiously it isn't Obi-Wan he is pretending to pummel.

It is himself.

* * *

_I can't take Dooku alone! I need you!_

_The blood-red lightsaber descends –_

_i dont care i hate you i hate you i hate you_

_The blood-red lightsaber descends –_

_wild yellow eyes glare at you as he wraps the Force around your neck squeezing squeezing you cant breathe cant see cant think please stop_

_The blood-red lightsaber descends –_

_the violent hiss of a blood red lightsaber the crack of lightning it burns oh force it burns the sickening smell of burnt flesh and the constant scent of ash anakin anakin why_

_The blood-red lightsaber descends –_

_his fault he did this to you he shouldnt have left you its all his fault why anakin why why_

_The blood-red lightsaber descends…_

* * *

The slip from anger into what Padmé called 'bargaining' is so quiet, Anakin barely notices it at first until lunch three days later, when Obi-Wan winces as he shifts in his chair and presses a hand to his thigh.

"I think I'd rather feel the Force again than walk properly," he says absently.

It takes a while for this to process and Anakin swallows his food slowly, wondering how to respond. Anakin has never been good with words. He wishes their positions were reversed – Obi-Wan would know exactly what to say, would know exactly what to do.

But their positions aren't reversed and Obi-Wan can't be two people at once, so Anakin keeps eating, having realised by now that anything he says will most likely be detrimental.

"Then again, I'd rather live without pain than be able to feel the Force."

Anakin chokes on the bite he has just taken from his sandwich. Did Obi-Wan just say what Anakin _thinks_ he just said –?

Obi-Wan glances up with disinterest as Anakin splutters and spits out his food. Usually he would quirk an eyebrow and say something like, "Anakin, it is generally considered common sense to _chew_ your food before attempting to swallow," in that semi-amused tone and half-smile that drives the Padawan insane, resulting in Anakin scowling and muttering obscenities under his breath because he can't think of a good comeback.

Now, Obi-Wan just watches him with that eerie absent indifference and returns to his own meal.

…_After that, he'll bargain, think things like, 'I'll give up so-and-so to get so-and-so', trading in one thing for another…_

Trading the Force for no pain, effectively cutting himself off from the Jedi, from his own identity? Anakin pushes his plate away.

He isn't hungry anymore.

* * *

_Even though you can see and hear, it feels like you have been blinded and deafened to the world. Like you're trying to breathe underwater, but your lungs keep filling up with water. Like you have lost a limb except there is a black hole where the phantom pain echoes. Like you're bleeding and losing more and more blood by the second, but can't find the wound to staunch the flow. You would give up anything to feel the Force again. Anything._

_You feel like you're losing your mind, the way he keeps pushing you towards that edge that you never saw before. Even when he's not pushing you feel yourself get closer and closer – what happens when you fall off it and you just can't take it anymore? What if you need to fall off, so you can feel the Force again?_

_Is this it, then? This is your choice? What if you don't need to save Anakin to save yourself? What if it's one or the other?_

_Anakin or the Force?_

_Anakin or _yourself_?_

_You would give up anything to feel the Force again._

_Even Anakin…?_

* * *

The next night, Obi-Wan picks at his meal, barely having eaten two bites. Anakin has almost finished his meal and watches his Master closely, wondering if he should say anything.

Before he can, Obi-Wan inhales sharply and drops his fork, his impassive face turning ashen and tense. He staggers away from his chair and limps to his room faster than Anakin can blink.

Stupidly his first thought is that, for a cripple, Obi-Wan is really fast.

Second instinct is to jump up after Obi-Wan and do _something_ to help.

Third instinct is more rational; Anakin is able to take a few breaths and think back over the few moments. He is able to place Obi-Wan's tense expression as the same look someone gets just before they are about to burst into tears. Real melodramatic Anakin-Skywalker-esque tears, not the silent soft flow of distress down a passive face. Anakin glares at Obi-Wan untouched meal as if it's the food's fault and keeps his ass glued to the chair, though he isn't sure whether it's because Padmé told him to not go after Obi-Wan or because he's afraid as to what he'll find if he does.

Anakin longs to tell Obi-Wan how much he loves him and how much he wishes he could take back everything he's said and done to make Obi-Wan like this, but he doesn't know how to put it into words.

Nor, he thinks, is Obi-Wan in the right frame of mind to receive it.

…_Depression. He might become silent, unresponsive, refuse visitors, spend much of his time crying…grieving. When this happens, don't try to 'cheer' him up. It's probably best to just leave him alone completely…_

He doesn't follow Obi-Wan, but he does smash a plate into the sink and slice his finger open on a shard, and immediately wishes he didn't do that.

He hates having no control over anything anymore. Not even his own feelings.

* * *

_What's the point anymore? You'll never live without pain, you can't feel the Force, you're useless and Anakin knows it, why can't you stop crying it's just a leg, just your leg, that you might never be able to walk on again, might never be able to hold a lightsaber with your hands, there's no point, just go away, go away, you're not hungry you're not thirsty you don't want to see him you don't want him to see you like this stop crying why can't you stop crying, crying_…

* * *

Five days Obi-Wan doesn't come out of his bedroom, and five days Anakin can't bring himself to go in.

Obi-Wan has always been a beacon of light, a presence of hope. What he can feel radiating out from the bedroom is like a slow-acting poison, nothing of the man he used to be, and it's possibly the most disturbing thing he's ever felt.

At the end of the fifth day, Anakin builds up the courage to go in and see his Master. It is humbling, even frightening, to see the man curled up in his bed with his face pressed into the pillow and tear tracks down his cheeks. Sweat covers his forehead, which Anakin suspects is from the mind-numbing pain in the wounded leg.

It's even worse that Anakin can't do anything.

He reaches out a hand to touch Obi-Wan's shoulder, hoping this will bring the Master comfort.

Obi-Wan doesn't openly react at all, and Anakin withdraws his hand as quickly as if he had been scalded by lava, shocked by the hostility that pulses through the Force. Obi-Wan doesn't want him here.

_What if he never wants me near him again?_

When he leaves the room, he only makes it to the couch before he collapses and buries his head in his trembling hands, twisting his Padawan braid around his fingers anxiously.

He wonders why he never saw before just how much he depended on Obi-Wan for everything until now, when he's on his own.

* * *

_What if…what if you don't need to save Anakin to save yourself? What if it's the other way around? What if you need to save yourself to save him?_

_You will recover. You will fight again. You are stronger than this. You can get past this, if not for Anakin then for yourself._

_The Force is here, around you. You just need to reach out, find it._

_No…you just need to let it come to you._

_Just breathe._

_In._

_Out._

_Let it come._

_In._

_Out._

_You will fight again. You will not let this ruin your life._

_In._

_Out._

_Just breathe. Let it come, don't force it._

_In._

_Out…_

* * *

Anakin is roused a week later far too early for his liking. The sun has barely breached the horizon and the air is sweet with Dantooine morning dew. Content to lie in his bed with one arm thrown over his eyes, he listens to his own heartbeat, comforted by the steady pounding. It takes him a while to figure out what exactly woke him up – there is something different about this morning. Curious, he reaches out with the Force.

He lets his senses drift over the small residence and out to the morning fresh plains where the Living Force thrums. Anakin sighs deeply and nestles back into his sheets. He has discovered he likes Dantooine, much to his own surprise. He has always been a restless warrior, disliking the quiet or inactiveness for extended periods of time, but for perhaps the first time in his life he is learning to enjoy it and appreciate it.

Although, he remembers not a moment later, he didn't discover what it was that woke him. He reaches out again, this time to where Obi-Wan is – and is startled when he is not met with the painful, gaping wound in the Force he has felt for what seems like forever, but with a sense of…equilibrium. It's the only word he can use to describe the feeling, because whatever it is, it's beautiful, familiar. Comforting. He throws off the sheets and grabs a pair of sweatpants from the floor, almost tripping over the leggings in his hurry to pull them on. He follows Obi-Wan's Force Signature to the veranda.

Obi-Wan is deep in meditation, his hands clasped behind his back in the same posture Anakin favours, standing with his legs parted and face to the breeze. Obi-Wan reminds Anakin of himself that morning on Naboo when he decided to go to Tatooine, his auburn hair rustling gently in the wind.

The Force flows around his Master the way it hasn't since that terrible day on Geonosis, and Anakin feels tears of relief prick at the corners of his eyes. He leans against the wall, unwilling to disturb Obi-Wan in his meditation, content to simply observe.

A droplet of sweat trickles down the back of Obi-Wan's neck and follows his spine, just as he trembles and his leg gives out. With a muffled cry, Obi-Wan begins to fall, but Anakin reacts with the reflexes honed by years of training and jumps forward to wrap his arms around his Master's torso, holding him up.

Obi-Wan pants heavily and blinks confusedly, grasping at the arm supporting his weight, and says nothing as Anakin pulls him back up and moves his hands to his Master's waist, holding him gently but firmly and supporting most of his weight. His bare chest is pressed against Obi-Wan's similarly bare back, and Anakin presses his lips into Obi-Wan's hair which tickles his nose. Inhaling deeply, he lets his Master's scent soothe him. It is such a contrast to Padmé – where the beautiful politician smells of a contrasting mixture between the flowers of Naboo and the harshness of the Senate, both intoxicatingly innocent and powerful at the same time, Obi-Wan smells real; distinctively male. No colognes, no foreign scents. He doesn't even smell like the sterile Jedi Temple despite his penchant for cleanliness. There is no way else to describe it but _Obi-Wan_.

Half an hour passes by as they meditate, two as one, until finally the strain becomes too much for both Master and apprentice, and Anakin slowly lowers himself and Obi-Wan down to the chill tiled floor, keeping Obi-Wan firmly in his arms against him. Obi-Wan lies against his Padawan's chest and tilts his face upwards against Anakin's neck in an unusual display of open affection, and Anakin closes his eyes, relishing it.

Dina rises above the horizon and casts her golden glow across the moist plains, bathing Master and apprentice in a gentle warmth that melts the shadows away.

* * *

_It is like a heavy fog has lifted from your mind; you can see and hear the world, the universe, again, and you can breathe. You can _breathe_. The ache in your chest, the missing part, is subsiding from that phantom painful throb to a gentle warmth where the Force heals that lesion._

_You can breathe._

_You can feel._

_Don't let go. Don't let it leave you._

_Don't let go_.

* * *

Anakin knows Obi-Wan is recovering well when he is sat down one morning by his Master at breakfast. "Anakin," Obi-Wan begins purposefully, "it's high time we spoke. We have a lot to talk about how much negative emotion you've been dealing with and my failure as both your friend and your Master to recognise your struggle and help you with it."

He still finds it oddly unnerving to see his Master so straight-forward, but at the same time is overwhelmingly comforted – he's never liked the way the Jedi dance around issues cryptically.

Still, he thinks with a sinking heart, it's going to be a very long few weeks.

"Also, I'm very sorry for what I said about your cooking."

The embarrassed flush on Obi-Wan's face makes it almost worth it, even though both Master and Padawan know that Obi-Wan is definitely not talking about food.

* * *

"I let my emotions rule me, and in doing so I betrayed your trust in me. I shouldn't have left you and forsaken my duty."

"You're saying the words, Anakin, but do you really _believe_ them or are you just reciting off what you think I want to hear?"

"What more do you _want?_"

"I want you to _understand_."

"I'm trying."

"Not hard enough."

"Why must you always be so critical of me? Why have I never been good enough for you?"

"Because I know you can be better! Because I am your teacher and that is my job! Do you believe Qui-Gon was any less firm with me, or would have been with you had he lived to become your Master? Or do you believe it is because I delight in criticising you due to a petty jealousy you think exists? I treat you no differently to the way any other Master treats their Padawan. Yes, you are gifted and powerful, but that does not exclude you. You still have so much to learn."

"Like what?"

"Like controlling that unbecoming attitude of yours, for a start. Brashness, lack of emotional control, disobedience, disrespect –"

"All right, I get it! I'm a terrible Padawan! How much more do you have to rub it in!"

"No, Anakin, that's not what I said, nor was that my intention. Despite your…faults, I am proud of you and the man I know you can become. You are not a terrible Padawan. You are just overwhelming."

"I'm…I'm sorry, Master. I –"

"Hush, my young Padawan. I know you are sorry, and you already have my forgiveness. I only hope I can earn yours in return."

"Mine? What for?"

* * *

"I love her, Master. I know I shouldn't but I do. I love her so much it hurts to be away from her. I dream about her, I can't stop thinking about her…even when I'm with her it isn't enough."

"And you believe this is love?"

"I've been in love with her for ten years, I know how I feel."

"Tell me about her. Tell me what it is that has made you fall in love with her."

"She's…beautiful. Like an angel. She's intelligent, graceful, soft…she completes me, calms me."

"Hmm. What is her favourite colour?"

"Master?"

"No? All right…what does she believe in?"

"The Senate."

"Are you sure? The Senate can be corrupt. She does not strike me as the kind of woman who believes in corruption."

"She believes in what the Senate stands for."

"Which is?"

"The Republic."

"And what is the Republic?"

"A democracy."

"Therefore, she believes in democracy. What do _you_ believe in?"

"The…Jedi?"

"Was that a question or a statement?"

"You're teasing me."

"Yes, I am, and must I say that you're making it rather easy."

"I believe in the Code. And the Republic, too."

"The Republic, or the one who stands at the head of the Republic?"

"Right now, just the Republic."

"Pardon? You were mumbling, I missed that."

"The Republic."

"Oh. I thought – never mind. How can you believe in the Republic if you do not believe in democracy?"

"I didn't say that!"

"I know you didn't, but you are frustrated with the Republic – you think the deliberations take too long, too many arguments getting nowhere, and that it would be better for one person to make the decisions and implement them."

"How do you know that?"

"You wrote it in your last politics essay."

"Oh."

"In other words, you support the idea of an autocracy. An empire. The complete opposite to what Padmé supports and believes in."

"So?"

"I am just observing. Tell me something else about Senator Amidala. Something I wouldn't know."

"She had a crush on an artist before she was elected Queen."

"Well, that's…interesting, but that's not _her_."

"What else is there to know? She loves playing Senator, she loves politics."

"'Playing' Senator? What does that mean?"

"Well, you know…she's just not a Senator to _me_. To me, she's just Padmé."

"So, effectively, while I play Jedi Master, I'm just Obi-Wan to you?"

"No, Master. You'll always be my Master and a Jedi. It's who you are."

"And a Senator is not who she is?"

"No, that's not…that's not…"

"You've been in lust with her for ten years. You love her, but you do not see her. Tell me, Padawan, why attachments are forbidden."

"They lead to the Dark Side."

"Why?"

"When we are attached to something or someone, they become possessions, and we fear to lose that which belongs to us."

"Fear leads to…"

"Anger."

"Anger –"

"Leads to hatred, hatred leads to suffering, suffering leads to the Dark Side, I _know_ all of this."

"But do you understand it?"

"Yes!"

"Don't shout, Anakin."

"Sorry. But, Master, compassion is central to a Jedi's life. Compassion is unconditional love, so how can the Code dictate that we are not allowed to love?"

"The love the Code speaks of is different to love you speak of. Your love for Padmé is obsessive, you want her to yourself. Even when you're with her, you said it wasn't enough. She can't give you any more than what she's given. Your love is a selfish love because you want her for yourself, a love that is forbidden by the Code for your own benefit."

"And what makes the Code's love so different and so damn special then?"

"Sit down, Anakin. Breathe."

"Why? All you're doing is belittling me. You don't understand –"

"Or perhaps I'm understanding too well, and you don't like what you're hearing."

"All right then. If you understand so much, what makes my love for Padmé wrong?"

"It isn't wrong. What you feel is natural – she is a remarkable woman. It would be difficult to spend that much time around her and not start to feel what you feel. There is a certain quality of grace about her that inspires admiration…attraction, both physical and intellectual."

"Careful, Master. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were in love with her as well."

"…"

"Master?"

"…"

"You're – you're not – do you –?"

"…"

"…You're smiling. Why are you – _Masterrr!_ That wasn't funny! Stop laughing!"

"W-what? I'm not – pfft_hahaha_ –"

"I can't believe you made me think that. I can't believe I _believed_ that."

"You, my young Padawan, are entirely too easy to tease."

"You never joke about stuff like that. You never joke about _anything_."

"It calmed you down, though."

"Yeah, well, while you were pissing yourself with laughter and being _sneaky_ and _mean_, you never did tell me the difference."

"Ah, yes. Your love for Padmé isn't wrong, Anakin – it is the effect of it that is wrong, that is forbidden. Love in itself is a beautiful phenomenon that few are lucky to experience sometimes only once a lifetime. The effects love evokes are what are dangerous. Jealousy, possessiveness, devotion, loss of direction and duty. The love the Code advocates is the love of everything equally – no single-minded devotion to any one thing, but rather a love that is collective and wholesome."

"Can't I love both at once?"

"I think you already know the answer to that, Anakin."

"What?"

"In that dire moment on Geonosis, you had a choice. Your love for Padmé or your duty. You chose Padmé."

"I don't want to talk about this."

"We have to. You chose Padmé. Your love for her has tipped that delicate balance and exists beyond what the Code dictates – it was greater than your love for the Order and the Force, fuelled by fear for her and passion instead of _com_passion. It…eclipsed your love for m-"

"I said I _don't wanna talk about this!_"

"Anakin, come back – _Anakin –!_"

* * *

"How did you feel when you massacred the Tusken Raiders?"

"Angry."

"And how did you feel when your mother died?"

"Like…Like someone had stabbed me in the chest. I'd only just found her again and then she just died and I didn't have the power to save her, no-one taught it to me –"

"Betrayed, perhaps?"

"Yeah."

"By whom?"

"You, for holding me back. The Jedi, for not letting me learn the power I needed to save her. Qui-Gon, for taking me away from her in the first place."

"How do you feel now?"

"Sad."

"How do you feel about the murders, right now?"

"I don't feel anything. I'm glad they're dead."

"Why?"

"They're animals. They deserved to die, for what they did."

"And you believe you have the right to decide whether or not they have the right to live?"

"They killed my mother! It was justice!"

"Since when does justice equal mass murder?"

"They're _vermin –_"

"Why do you think it was your right to decide whether they could keep their lives or not?"

"I – I was angry! I couldn't help it – I just wanted to kill them to make them pay! You don't understand!"

"It is human to be angry, to want revenge. To rise above that is to be a man, to be a Jedi. If Dooku had killed me in the hangar instead of just wounding me, would you have hunted him down to kill him?"

"Yes!"

"What if I didn't want you to?"

"Why wouldn't you? You wouldn't want me to take revenge for you?"

"No. I would not. I wouldn't want your only reason for existence to be for revenge. What would you live for after that? What would you gain by killing Dooku?"

"I would have avenged you."

"But it would not have brought me back. By taking revenge, a man is but even with his enemy; in passing over it, he is superior."

"What the hell does that even mean?"

"It means, in taking revenge, you become no better than the one you seek to destroy. I would not wish that upon you, Padawan. Those who plot the destruction of others often fall themselves – let me ask you this, Anakin. How did you feel just after you killed the ones responsible for your mother's death?"

"Satisfied."

"And now? Would you do it again?"

"Yes. I still hate them. It wasn't enough."

"Revenge has no more quenching effect on emotions than salt water has on thirst. I _know_, Anakin. I know what it is like to lose yourself and give in to your anger –"

"And how would _you_ know that?"

"When…when Qui-Gon was stabbed by the Sith on Naboo, I became…enraged. I charged at the Sith, my every intention to slaughter him. I felt powerful, furious, drawing on from the darkness to fuel my strength – I lost sight of what I supposed to be doing and nearly lost myself. I became just like the thing I was fighting. I tasted something of revenge; it seemed like the finest Alderaanian wine. On swallowing, warm and sweet. Its after-taste, metallic and corroding. It was like being poisoned. I wasn't fulfilled by my actions. And neither are you."

"Don't presume to know how I feel –"

"But I'm not. I'm right, aren't I?"

"You're always right."

"I'm not always right. I made a grievous error when I told you to ignore your visions. I should have listened to you. I…it was only what I was taught, but that is no excuse. Any of your perceived failings are not yours – they are mine. I fear I have not been a good Master to you. You were right before, Anakin. Qui-Gon _would_ have been a better Master for you…I was too young, too inexperienced…I'm so sorry, Anakin."

"I – it's all right, Master. Don't apologise, it's not your fault, I'm not mad at you anymore. I don't think I ever really was. You couldn't have known. I didn't mean what I said."

"I know, Anakin."

"…Do you, or are you just saying that?"

* * *

Obi-Wan does not hate Anakin Skywalker, but he did once, in the past. Once, and only once, and never since.

_Obi-Wan…promise…promise me you will train the boy…_

_Yes, Master._

_He is the Chosen One…he will bring balance…train him…_

Bitterly, selfishly, he thinks, as he holds his Master who falls limp in his arms, _and me, Master? Have you no last words for me?_ But no, the light leaves Qui-Gon's eyes and the Force suddenly recoils and screams with his loss, the bond shattering in his mind and scarring his heart –

That was when he truly hated Anakin Skywalker. As he wept, clutching Qui-Gon's body to his own, he wanted nothing to do with the boy.

Although the hatred gave way to indifference and that echo of bitterness, it would take years for Obi-Wan to realise that Qui-Gon had not departed life without thinking of Obi-Wan. It would take years for him to realise that Anakin Skywalker was a gift, a means of helping to heal his torn soul.

It would take years for him to realise that he did not hate Anakin Skywalker, or even dislike him. Against everything he holds true to, against everything he has sworn, against everything he has been raised to believe in, Obi-Wan loves Anakin Skywalker.

He loves him, as the son he never had and the brother he cannot remember; as the friend who stands beside him and the partner who guards his life; despite what he has done and the trust he has shattered, Obi-Wan Kenobi loves Anakin Skywalker.

He is sure that nothing will ever change that.

* * *

"How did you feel when I…when I abandoned you?"

"Hurt. Betrayed."

"Why?"

"Because I trusted you, and you abused that trust. It felt like you purposely left me to my fate, that you chose – oh, Anakin, please don't cry, this is just another exercise. It's like the other ones. Here, have some water."

"I'm s-sorry…"

"We haven't even started and you're already…Would you like to do this tomorrow?"

"N-no."

"Are you sure?"

"S-stop being so n-nice to me! It's not about me!"

"Would you…prefer it if I slapped you?"

"No."

"All right then. Keep asking questions."

"What did I say to you in hyperspace?"

"Anakin…"

"I need to know, Master. I need to know exactly what I said. Everything. I have vague memories and suspicions, but I don't know for sure."

"What you said was spoken in incoherent anger, you meant nothing of it. It shouldn't upset you like this. It's finished now, and you need to let go of it."

"But _you're_ upset by it. You're not letting it go. Tell me. Don't leave anything out."

"Not that, Anakin –"

"Please."

"If…if you wish. You told me about your mother's death. You said you didn't have the power to save her, but you should have because you're the Chosen One, and that I was holding you back."

"…And…"

"And…you said that I as good as killed her and that you hated me. That I should have died, not her. You'd rather have her than me…You confessed your massacre of the Tusken camp. That Padmé told you that you were being selfish. That you're better and more powerful than me. That you believed I was jealous of you. Holding you back. Qui-Gon wanted you more than me. Qui-Gon knew you were better than me. You always hated me. Anakin? I can stop –"

"D-don't. Keep going, I need to – to know…"

"You said that Qui-Gon would have understood and that he wouldn't have held you back. But you got stuck with me instead. All I do is criticise you. Qui-Gon wouldn't have, he believed in you. Then you asked me how I could even look at you after what you did, that you hated yourself…"

"I'm sorry –"

"Look at me, Anakin. Look at me. It's all right, I know. I know you're sorry, I know you didn't mean it – just like how I didn't mean anything I said last week. It wasn't you talking, it was just your anger, you needed to hurt someone to deal with everything and that's all it was. I shouldn't have told you this –"

"Yes, you should have, because _you_ believe it!"

"How many times must I tell you? I _know_ you didn't mean it!"

"Intellectually, maybe, but in your nightmares I say the same things but worse. You think about it all the time."

"How do you know about my nightmares?"

"Well, I didn't, but you just confirmed it."

"…I can't believe I fell for that."

"Master…I do miss my mother, but I don't wish for her instead of you. I couldn't. I can't choose like that. I didn't mean what I said about Qui-Gon. You're the best Master and friend I could have asked for and I wish I could take back everything I said but I can't so all I can say is that I'm sorry and that I love you…M-master? Don't cry, I – I'm sorry for everything, I really am –"

"No, Anakin, it's not that, I'm all right, really, I just…I…I never thought I'd hear you say that."

"I know, I know…Jedi aren't supposed to –"

"And despite the Code, against everything I know, I love you too. I always have, Anakin, and nothing can ever change that."

* * *

It is everything he has ever needed to hear, so painful and so beautiful at the same time. He isn't sure whether he believes it just yet but when Obi-Wan brushes away a tear from his cheek with a shaking thumb, he knows, and when Obi-Wan draws him in close in that again unusually affectionate display, he lets it come true.

…'_not hating' you isn't quite the same as, well, _not blaming_ you, or even_ loving_ you…_

The Chancellor was wrong. Obi-Wan doesn't hate him, he doesn't blame him.

He loves Anakin, as much as Anakin loves him.

Their falling tears mingle in the space between them.

* * *

At twilight, a week later, Obi-Wan takes Anakin for a long walk around the Khoonda plains. The setting sun Dina bathes the lush grasslands with an almost seductive golden-orange glow and the air is thick and sweet with the scent of life. Obi-Wan has never been as strong in the Living Force as he is in the Unifying Force, but his years with Qui-Gon taught him much, including the value of life, and it is now his turn to teach it to Anakin, as best he can. Together, they make a slow pace in silence, becoming one with every blade of grass, every blba tree, appreciating every facet and modicum of the life that thrives there.

The ruins of the old Jedi Enclave become the place of rest; Obi-Wan kneels, with a hiss of pain as his weight is taken on his leg, in the small gardens of the sub-level, untouched over the centuries and as beautiful as the day they were built. Anakin kneels before him. He closes his eyes and slips into the meditation he has always found so difficult, and is startled when he feels Obi-Wan's hands grasp his, their fingers entwining and their bond flooding with each other's emotions and feelings. It is the highest form of trust.

Anakin does not resist, and neither does Obi-Wan.

Together they open themselves to the Living Force and to each other, reaching out, _the battling kinrath in the crystal caves the grazing iriaz the mating kath hounds in the khoonda plains the flowing streams the gentle breeze which carries the breath of life…_

Far removed from the bustle of the Galactic Trade Routes, the corruption of the Senate and the bloodshed of the war, there exists a peace here that Anakin was never able to find in Coruscant – even on Naboo, he could not find this peace. Padmé was too much of a distraction, too intoxicating, for him to extend his connection with the Living Force. Here there is no fog of darkness, no heavy weight in his mind and heart here. It is soothing, refreshing – as cleansing as the crisp air.

Although he is as brash and as loud as ever, he has not felt this way in a very long time, if ever.

_You feel it, then?_ Obi-Wan whispers in Anakin's mind, his presence warming him._ The beauty, the peace, the harmony? All life is sacred, Anakin. It is not for us to pass judgement over. It is what it is, and it cannot help its nature._

_And us, Master? Does that mean we cannot help our nature? We are what we are?_

We_ are what we choose to be. We are more advanced beings, Padawan, capable of rational and intelligent thought. We are blessed with the sense of morality that is essential to not only a Jedi's life, but to the lives we lead as humans, as men. We can control ourselves, if we so choose. We cannot change ourselves, but we always have a choice, even when it comes to other advanced beings, other humans. They are still beings who have made their own choices, but it is not our place to judge them either. The Force will judge them, and you must trust in the Force._

_Yes, Master._

They do not stay long; through the Force, both Master and apprentice sense the presence of laigreks, starved and lusting for blood to feed on. Although withdrawn from each other's minds as they make their way through the darkness of night to their residence, they still are aware of each other with heightened senses. Every heart beat, every breath, is made as one, as Anakin slips his arm around Obi-Wan's waist to help ease the weight on his leg.

Anakin leans down to press his lips to Obi-Wan's cheek before they retire and lingers there for longer than he should, relishing the sensuousness of his Master's beard against his lips. Obi-Wan does not seem to mind; he sighs softly and runs his fingers through Anakin's hair, which has grown out of his Padawan cut into a shaggy length that makes him look slightly older than he really is. On the other hand, Obi-Wan is looking younger. There is a light to his intense blue-green eyes which Anakin hasn't seen for years and a certain lift in his smile that brightens his face, giving him the look of a younger, less troubled man.

_All life is sacred_, Obi-Wan's voice echoes again that night, warming their pulsating bond._ It is not for us to pass judgement over_.

Sleep comes easily to both Master and apprentice for the first time in weeks, and the terror of night evades them.

Dina rises the next morning to dry the dew drops that cling to the soft blades of grass, breathing fresh life and another day begins.

The bond between Master and Padawan has never been stronger.

* * *

Just a quick explanation for this chapter: you will notice the title of it is INTERLUDES, which means this is not so much of a chapter (despite its length) as it is a series of snippets over a number of weeks detailing Obi-Wan's and Anakin's recoveries. I felt the story would drag too much if I went through each stage; it is also because I am a big believer in allowing my readers to interpret missing scenes for themselves and take their own meanings. There is no right or wrong way to perceive something; if you think the increased physical contact between Obi-Wan and Anakin is an indication of their relationship to come, you are correct. If you think the increased physical contact between them is just a result of the need for physical reassurance and strengthening their friendship after a period of long emotional turmoil and has nothing to do with a romantic relationship, you are also correct. It is completely up to you to decide how you perceive it. I hope that clears up a few things, and thank you for reading!


	16. Physical Torture

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Fourteen –  
Physical Torture

Physical therapy, Obi-Wan Kenobi thinks as he wipes the sweat from his brow and continues tentatively pressing most of his weight on his right leg, should be renamed physical torture.

Oh, sure, he is healing quite quickly considering – over the past month and a half he has managed to get his left arm moving without pain; the tremors in his hands have receded thanks to the hand exercises prescribed by Bant; and he can now support his weight evenly between his uninjured and injured legs for slightly longer periods. What Bant conveniently forgot to tell him is how _frustrating_ it is.

If he sleeps on his left shoulder to relieve the pressure on his right leg, it becomes stiff and takes a good ten minutes of massaging to loosen it up. If he tries to sleep on his right side, on his leg, he can't stand it for more than a few minutes.

And, although he is a Jedi and Jedi are not supposed to experience such negative emotions, he absolutely _despises_ lying on his back, for no other reason than he just _doesn't like it_.

No-win situation. Sometimes it's easier just to spend the whole night awake.

He has dropped five glasses and three plates since arriving at Dantooine, and the last time he broke a glass he kicked the wall in frustration before he could calm himself and nearly broke a toe. His leg, while improving, still hurts – it is worst when he is tired, after a long day of balancing and muscle strengthening. It also keeps giving out on him, and during the worst possible times; on his way to the toilet, in the middle of the kitchen, actually _in_ the shower.

That had been embarrassing, and he'd nearly – _nearly_ – called Anakin to help him before considering that he would rather his Padawan _not_ see him lying prostrate and totally naked in the middle of the 'fresher.

In his moment of mental distraction, he hisses when his leg throbs in pain. Taking a deep breath, he tries to use the Force to ease and calm the wound, but he is having difficulty concentrating so he returns to distribute his weight across both legs and limps over to the couch, sighing when the pressure is removed.

This is not like other recoveries. For a start, it is now nearing the end of the second month since the Battle of Geonosis and his encounter with Dooku. While he is here on peaceful, untouched Dantooine, the Clone Wars are raging and thousands of lives are being lost each day.

And, he adds bitterly, he should be out there fighting. Fighting alongside the Jedi, maybe as a Commander or a General with his own legion of clones, using his negotiation skills to prevent unnecessary bloodshed. Planning offensives and defences. Doing _something_.

Although, what _can_ he do, when he can't even walk without his leg giving out?

What _can_ he do when he has yet to even pick up his lightsaber?

Nothing, he thinks. Absolutely _nothing_.

He has kept in touch with the happenings of the war, through both the HoloNet and the Jedi Council reports, mostly from Mace. He knows all about the Dark Reaper Crisis, and how Mace set off in attempt to foil Count Dooku by leading forces across the scattered battlefronts of Rhen Var, Raxus Prime, Alaris Prime and Thule.

There was no victory, only another stalemate – while Dooku was prevented from unleashing the Dark Reaper, only _just_, the Jedi and Republic suffered such losses Obi-Wan considers that perhaps it wasn't worth it.

It won't be long, he reminds himself. Just two more weeks, and he can return to Coruscant and where he and Anakin can become semi-actively involved with the war from the sidelines.

Although, thinking of Anakin…

Lately there has been a shift in their relationship, and Obi-Wan still can't decide whether it is for the better or worse. When Anakin first became his Padawan, Obi-Wan was careful to avoid instances where there was too much physical contact. It made him uncomfortable, the way the boy could be so clingy, and so kept his distance and soon Anakin learnt to keep his as well. Few hugs, even less friendly touches on the shoulders. After all, a Jedi did not require anything else but the Force and the Light, and the sooner the boy learned that the better because Obi-Wan certainly wasn't going to indulge him any more than the difficult nightmarish nights of a small ex-slave boy.

Now that Obi-Wan thinks about it, he made a terrible mistake in that. Anakin was not like other Padawans – was not like _Obi-Wan_ had been. Obi-Wan had never needed physical contact, for that was what he had been taught since he was a Youngling. Anakin came to the Order at the age of nine, after nine years of being loved by his mother, having someone to run to in the middle of the night and be greeted with a peck on the cheek in the morning, to have someone hold him when he was distraught. To have been ripped away from that so brutally and placed into the care of one who cared little for physical contact must have been…well, Obi-Wan can hardly begin to imagine how it must have been for Anakin to adapt to the distance.

Yet another one of his failings.

He hadn't meant to let Anakin keep holding him, that morning when he meditated after his…well…emotional upheaval, to put it lightly. He hadn't meant to hide his face at the crook of Anakin's neck when they were lowered to the floor – it just happened. A primal need to be close to Anakin, to feel that he was really there and that he wasn't going to leave, a reassurance. It just felt _nice_ to know that his Padawan hadn't abandoned him again, and for the second time in his life, Obi-Wan needed that physical reassurance.

The first was when he held Qui-Gon's body, long after it has lost its warmth, as though he was trying to coax him back to life – terrified to let go, to make his death real.

But now there is something more between the Master and Padawan – the occasional brush of lips against a cheek, the tender way Anakin slips his arm around Obi-Wan's waist to hold him up and catch him when his leg gives out, grasping of hands during mutual meditation – and Obi-Wan doesn't have it within himself to withdraw all the way again so soon.

Anakin needs this – needs to know that he can trust Obi-Wan, be open with him in whatever way he can be. The physical contact has lessened now that Obi-Wan has convinced Anakin he is able to stand up without too much help, and has stopped running his fingers through Anakin's hair which has grown out and needs to be trimmed back into a Padawan cut. It is not healthy to encourage this closeness and dependency, the logic that he seems to have been born with reminds him, for both Obi-Wan and Anakin if they are to heal.

"Good evening, Master."

Obi-Wan glances upwards in surprise. Too deep in thought and shielding so tightly, although away of Anakin's vibrant Force Signature and arrival he had simply failed to pay attention to his surroundings. "You're back early," Obi-Wan says. It feels like just a few hours ago that Anakin left – usually he would spend all day out on the plains.

"No, I'm not," Anakin says, a half-smirk on his face. "You've just lost track of time. It's getting late."

With a start, Obi-Wan looks towards the window and realises that Anakin is correct – he _has_ lost track of time; it is very dark, and he hasn't even started cooking dinner, though curiously he isn't that hungry at all. Anakin moves closer but doesn't sit down, instead only shoving his hands into his pockets.

"How bad is the pain today?" he asks.

Obi-Wan considers lying and telling him it's fine so that he won't have to put up with that predictable oh-so-guilty look on his Padawan's face, but the truth is that if it hurts this much now, tonight will be unbearable but no different to some of the other nights which he managed to get through well enough.

Except that he, Obi-Wan Kenobi, is a terrible liar. Forcing a smile onto his face, he says, "Nothing I can't handle."

Of course, Anakin has grown far too perceptive for Obi-Wan's liking over the past weeks and scowls.

"You, my Master, are a terrible liar."

It is no doubt due to their more intense bond – Obi-Wan is not sure how to describe it. It is no longer just a Training Bond, but something a little deeper, a little more personal, that allows them to sense each other even when their shields are at their tightest. Anakin interrupts his thought flow by averting his gaze and looking just that little bit smaller, even though he towers over Obi-Wan, a downcast expression gracing his features.

There is no need to ask what Anakin looks so downtrodden for. Obi-Wan sighs and shakes his head. "Anakin, we've been through this so many times," he repeats with the weariness of a man much older than he, and every time he recites this he means it less and less. "One mistake should not have to haunt you for the rest of your life."

_One mistake should not have to haunt _me_ for the rest of my life_, is what Obi-Wan is trying to say but can't bring himself to. If Anakin never puts it behind him, never moves on, always treats Obi-Wan like a cripple, then how will he be able to tell himself that he can recover when Anakin seems to have so little faith? Somehow, like every other time, Anakin manages to make the situation revolve around him. Immediately Obi-Wan berates himself for even like thinking that.

"I know," Anakin mumbles. "I'm sorry."

Not for the first time, annoyance floods Obi-Wan's veins which is not released quickly enough. "You've already apologised," he says sharply. Pausing and channelling his short temperament through the Force, he is able to continue in a more mellow voice and ignore the startled look in Anakin's eyes. Lately he has had poor control of his emotions. "While I am pleased you are learning to take responsibility for your actions, the fault does not rest solely on your shoulders. Yes, you may have inadvertently contributed to my injuries, but it was not you who drove the lightsaber through my shoulder and leg. You lost yourself in a moment of great stress and made a poor decision, and I do not hold that against you. It's in the past. Nothing we do will change it, but we can control how it affects us now. I don't know about you, but I'd rather not spend the rest of my life thinking about how it could have been different if it had happened a different way. And neither should you."

If that doesn't get through to the boy, Obi-Wan is at a loss as to what else will, but he's not willing to try anything else tonight. Why should it be _him_ who has to reassure his Padawan day in and day out of this? Just for once, Obi-Wan guiltily wishes their positions could be reversed.

Thankfully, Anakin nods and smiles a little. "Thank you, Master," he says.

Whether or not Anakin means _that_ is irrelevant – at least he's letting it go for tonight, and the subject won't be breached until tomorrow. Obi-Wan allows a small smile to touch his face as well as he changes the subject, no longer wishing to talk about his injuries. "Now, why don't you go and take a shower?"

"What for?"

"Because you stink of sweat. It's very uncivilised." Which is true – even two metres away from his Padawan, the intoxicatingly musky smell of sweat reaches Obi-Wan's nostrils, raw and visceral.

Anakin sniffs at his clothes and grins. "It's the scent of a man," he says cheekily. "You just don't appreciate it."

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow, unable to stop a playful grin of his own from spreading across his face. "It is the scent of a haughty Padawan who has spent too much of his day prancing around after Iriaz," Obi-Wan teases. "I appreciate the scent of a male just fine, thank you, and I'm sure I'll appreciate _your_ smell a lot more after you wash."

Anakin scowls half-heartedly and shuffles away, and Obi-Wan keeps grinning because he knows he has won that little battle of wits, as usual. As he listens to the shower burst to life from the 'fresher, Obi-Wan picks up his datapad and taps it against his good leg a little, deep in thought.

Obi-Wan sighs and forces himself to focus on the battle plans he is drawing up; most of it is based on the ancient Jedi-turned-Sith-Lord-turned-Jedi Revan's tactics from the Madalorian and Jedi Civil Wars – subtle, but devastating. Obi-Wan has changed them to accommodate modern warfare and to avoid the grotesque – and quite frankly, completely unnecessary – sacrifices. Without having actually _been_ in battle, he can't determine whether these plans will work yet, but he's hoping they do.

A long while later, Obi-Wan looks up from the battle offensive that is half formed and frowns in the direction of the shared 'fresher, still hearing the water running. Anakin is not known for his short showers, but really, spending two hours in there is just plain ridiculous.

* * *

"What's wrong, Master?" Anakin asks one night when he returns from hunting Iriaz. It is three days before they have to return to Coruscant, but Anakin prefers not to think about this.

"Hmm?" Obi-Wan acknowledges him distractedly. "Oh, nothing, just…I received a report from Mace. Did you happen to know Padawan Lea'na? Perhaps not, she's a few years younger than you –"

"Yeah, I know her. The pretty blonde girl with the really big –"

"Yes, that's her," Obi-Wan cuts across him with a stern look. "Her Master was recently expelled from the Order."

Anakin throws himself into the couch beside Obi-Wan, letting his grown hair fall into his eyes. "Why? Did he fall to the Dark Side or join the Separatists or something?"

"No. None of those."

"Then why? I thought the Order wasn't expelling anyone anymore because of the war."

Obi-Wan does what Obi-Wan has always done when he does not want to answer a question, and averts the conversation direction. "Exceptional circumstances pushed the Council's hand. I cannot say I oppose their decision. I knew Knight Jetkaar, not well but we were on friendly terms."

"…So…why was he expelled?"

Anakin has seen Obi-Wan look uncomfortable before, although he hasn't seen him look so flustered since he was given The Talk. He remembers it as though it was yesterday and the memory never fails to bring a smile to his face.

"_Master?"_

_Obi-Wan didn't look up from his datapad. "Yes, Anakin."_

"_Can I ask you something?"_

"_You may."_

"_What's sex?"_

_Obi-Wan's face was priceless. "You're a bit…young, to know about that, don't you think?" he stammered, the datapad slipping through his fingers to fall to the table._

_Anakin was eleven and thought he was old enough for anything. "I'm eleven," he reminded Obi-Wan unnecessarily, crossing his arms. It took a bit of convincing but eventually Obi-Wan caved, and by the time he did his face was so red Anakin might have thought it was a sunburn from lying twenty hours straight in the rays of the two suns of Tatooine if he had not known any better._

_Obi-Wan sat Anakin down on the couch and scratched his cheek nervously, which didn't have a beard then. "Well, um, it is an…act which occurs between two organic beings in moments of, uh, intense physical and emotional, ah, attraction. Now, the best example is a man and woman. Human, for this example. When a man and a woman love each other very much…"_

_And Obi-Wan went on to describe the act of sexual intercourse as clinically as he could to an eleven-year-old boy, but Anakin became far more amused by him stammering through the description of sex and his struggle to say 'vagina' in that strained cultured timbre than he was interested in the actual information._

_By the end, Obi-Wan was sweating and looking positively mortified for having just given his Padawan a lesson on the Ways Of Life._

"_Did that…make sense? Is that what you wanted to know?" he said hesitantly, looking like he was praying to the Force to never, ever, ever have to talk about that again while his Padawan was so young and that Anakin didn't have any questions._

_Anakin nodded. "Yeah, it's just like the way they taught us in our human behaviour class today, except we got to look at pictures and diagrams too. Thanks, Master!" he chirped._

_Obi-Wan's eyes went wider than Anakin had ever seen them. "You _already knew?_" he exclaimed before groaning, sinking into the couch as though hoping it would swallow him, and burying his face in his hands. "I will not kill my Padawan, I will not kill my Padawan," he muttered, and Anakin snickered._

Anakin snorts under his breath, and forces himself to pay attention to his Master, who has composed himself. "He irresponsibly indulged in a prohibited carnal relationship with his charge," is the explaination.

Force, who _talks_ like that anymore? Obi-Wan is _so_ archaic, using all those Big Impressive Words. He never knows how to say anything _simply_. Anakin has a theory – the reason why Obi-Wan Kenobi is such a good negotiator is because none of the disputers know what he is saying half the time and just sign an agreement to make him go away so they don't have to keep feeling stupid in his presence.

"In Basic, please…?" Anakin says.

Obi-Wan huffs a bit and Anakin is pleased to see his composure fall. "He slept with his Padawan."

Well, that was rather anticlimactic. "He was expelled over _that_?"

"Why do you find this so difficult to believe?"

"Well, it's just sex, isn't it? We're allowed to have sex." Suddenly the pit of Anakin's stomach drops and his eyes widen with dread. "Aren't we?" he hurriedly continues. "'Cause, you know, if we aren't, no-one told _me_ anything about that."

And if they aren't, he adds silently, he's leaving the Order there and then, Knighthood and Clone Wars be damned.

Obi-Wan continues on as if he hadn't heard Anakin. "A Master is forbidden from making his apprentice his lover. The Council is very firm on this rule. The attachment between a Master and his or her Padawan is already intense enough as it is without the added weight of a sexual relationship – sex is considered an abuse of power and an inexcusable deepening of a bond that is, in its most basic form, allowed only through necessity."

"Oh." Pause. "Did _she_ want to have sex with him?"

Obi-Wan looks scandalised. "That's not the point!"

"All right, chill out. But we are allowed to have sex, right?"

Obi-Wan sighs. "The Council still recognises basic human desires. As long as the relationship is not initiated between Master and Padawan and no attachment is formed to your chosen partner, sexual gratification is permitted. It is not encouraged, however, and some Jedi have taken vows of celibacy."

"_Celibacy?_" Anakin repeats, outraged. "That's – are you kriffing serious? Some actually choose to become celibate? That's just – royally fucked up. I mean, can you imagine living without _sex?_ I can't imagine _anyone_ willingly taking that vow unless they're so ugly they can't get laid anyway or are eunuchs or something."

Obi-Wan does something Anakin hasn't seen him do for years; he blushes. "There is absolutely no need to be so disrespectful of a revered tradition of the Order, Anakin!"

"Eh, whatever," Anakin tosses carelessly, throwing himself back down into the sofa. "Doesn't change the fact that it's still completely screwed up." Obi-Wan glares at Anakin but his face does not lose the red hue, and Anakin chuckles. "That expression loses its effect when you're blushing."

When Obi-Wan averts his gaze, it takes a good fifteen seconds of gauche silence to make Anakin suspect that…

"You – are _you_…?"

Arms crossed stiffly across his chest, Obi-Wan just clears his throat awkwardly and continues pointedly glaring at some spot above Anakin's head, his face as red as ever.

_Oh. Oops._

"Uh…that's – that's not to say that _you're_ unattractive, Master," he tries to rectify. His eyes flick down to glance at Obi-Wan's groin before he can stop them, and Anakin feels his face heat up. "And you're definitely not a eunuch."

"Yes, I'd noticed that too," Obi-Wan coolly agrees, then sighs. "Only you, Anakin, have the unsolicited ability to make me feel embarrassed about a vow I believe in and continue to honour."

Anakin desperately wants to ask if his Master is a virgin, but knows full well that this is neither appropriate (or so Obi-Wan would be quick to point out; Anakin thinks it is a perfectly valid question) nor would it be appreciated. So he struggles his way through a million hammering questions and forces out, "When did you take the vow?"

"When I was Knighted. Just before I took you on as my Padawan."

But – that's – "Ten _years?_" Anakin shrieks. "You've gone more than _ten years_ without having a decent fuck? That's, like, physical torture! How can you stand it? You still jerk off, don't you?"

"Where did you pick up such disgusting language? It certainly hasn't come from me."

Obi-Wan's masterful aversion of questions he doesn't want to answer stopped working on Anakin a long time ago, but it's still amusing to see that his Master thinks he has a chance of getting away with it. "You don't, do you? What the hell do you do when you get the urge? I bet you probably meditate your erections away…"

The words are said in jest but the joke falls flat when Obi-Wan's face turns red again. This time it is Anakin who clears his throat and averts his gaze – embarrassed, not for Obi-Wan, but for himself for his inability to keep his big mouth shut.

After a few tense moments of silence, Obi-Wan regains his control and says in an even voice, "You'll be offered the opportunity to swear a vow of celibacy at your Knighting."

Anakin Skywalker.

Celibacy.

As in, never having sex again. Ever.

"Uh, yeah, they'll just have to do without me."

"Well, it isn't for everyone." Obi-Wan sits back and strokes his beard contemplatively. "Quinlan Vos never took a vow…" he says, a thoughtful frown on his head. "Come to think of it, neither did Mace…hmm…I can't remember if Master Yoda said he took one or not –"

Too late, he realises what Obi-Wan is doing. "No! Stop it! Don't –"

"Ah, that's right!" Obi-Wan exclaims with a barely suppressed grin, drowning out Anakin's weak protests. "I distinctly recall Master Yoda telling me when I swore my vow that he enjoyed the 'pleasures of the flesh' too much to –"

"I AM NOT LISTENING TO YOU ANYMORE."

"…You were asking for it."

Anakin lets his hands fall away from his ears. "That was really mean, you've traumatised me! I'm gonna have nightmares for the rest of my life! I won't be able to look Master Yoda in the eye again!"

"Don't worry, Anakin," Obi-Wan says sympathetically. "I couldn't look at him in the eye for month after he told me that either."

"MAAASTER!"


	17. Borderline

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Fifteen –  
Borderline

He _knew_ it had been a Very Bad Idea to inadvertently reveal to his Padawan that he had sworn a vow of celibacy.

"The Council still recognises basic human desires," he remembers telling Anakin. "As long as the relationship is not initiated between Master and Padawan and no attachment is formed to your chosen partner, sexual gratification is permitted. It is not encouraged, however, and some Jedi have taken vows of celibacy."

Before Obi-Wan had even finished, he cringed internally. Why – _why_ – had to he told Anakin that? He would never have let that slip in the past. Perhaps, he reflects, he subconsciously hoped that after everything they'd been through, Anakin would be able to handle this information maturely and react appropriately and respectfully –

"_Celibacy?_"

– or not.

Of course, Anakin did what Anakin has always done, and responded in that typical tactless way. Obi-Wan hadn't been lying when he'd sighed and told Anakin that only _he_ had that horrid ability to make him embarrassed of the vow he took with the purest faith, and ashamed of the life he now leads. At only twenty-five he pledged himself to a life of chastity – a life where he devoted himself and his passions to serving the Force and the Order, to not take physical pleasure elsewhere where his connection with the Force would fulfil him spiritually. To have his young twenty-year-old, vibrant, extremely attractive and evidently very sexual Padawan patronise him should not have bothered him. It should not _continue_ to bother him, and yet it does.

Obi-Wan sits down on the edge of his familiar bed in his Coruscant apartment bedroom, both relieved and the slightest bit nervous to be back, and sighs. He's been sighing a lot lately, an indication of his advancing years, and the fact that he's getting older doesn't improve his image in his Padawan's eyes: an aging, crippled, ugly eunuch who can't get laid.

Charming, really.

For some reason, it bothers him more than just a little bit – which is far more than it even should to begin with – that Anakin sees him this way. Maybe not the ugly and eunuch parts, since Anakin said as much, but the aging and crippled and celibate parts for sure.

Still, what was he supposed to do? Lecture Anakin until the boy admitted he was being not only disrespectful and patronising and self-righteous, but also tearing Obi-Wan down a new one? He wouldn't have liked to, but he _should_ have, if it were not for the fact that the Padawan had shown at least _tiny_ morsel of self-restraint and managed to not ask if Obi-Wan was a virgin, and Obi-Wan resorted to light teasing instead that steered the conversation away from him.

For the record, Obi-Wan thinks with a frown, he is not a virgin – but even if Anakin _had_ asked, Obi-Wan would not have answered. It is, quite frankly, absolutely none of his business, nor is it any place for Anakin to judge Obi-Wan's choice in lifestyle. Besides, it's not as though Obi-Wan pries into the (active) sexual life of his Padawan, let alone has any desire to.

Still, he considers as his frown gives way to a guilty smile, teasing Anakin had been fun. He usually, if not always, wins the verbal battles – one of the few things he does win when it comes to Anakin, and he will take advantage of that whenever he can. Words are not Anakin's strong suit, which is why he will never be a negotiator.

Obi-Wan's fingers trail the cold silver hilt of his lightsaber, steadier than they have been in months. Anakin is out, and he isn't sure whether to be concerned or relieved that he is able to simply take a few moments to himself – though at the moment, concern is steadily taking over.

Anakin is with Palpatine, and has been gone for a while.

Normally, all he would have done is huff a little and mutter something about untrustworthy politicians under his breath, making Anakin scoff and loudly defend Palpatine. But something about this is different, and he can't place his finger on it. Maybe it was the half a second of fear he felt from Anakin when the Council informed them that the Chancellor requested a meeting with him – it happened so quickly that he can't even be sure it came from Anakin. Maybe it came from him. Or maybe…

Obi-Wan yawns loudly and rubs his strained eyes. _I am getting far too old for all of this_.

* * *

It has been a long day of physical torture – _ahem_, Obi-Wan corrects, physical _therapy_ – and the only thing he wants to do is have a cup of tea, read that essay on the economics of the Outer Rim during the Jedi Civil War that he's been meaning to read but putting off for the past seven years, and go to sleep. More or less in that order.

Unfortunately, his hands don't seem to agree, and the tea leaves spill out all over the counter and onto the floor.

"Blast!"

Predictably, Anakin all but skids through the kitchen, either: A) alarmed by Obi-Wan's version of swearing; B) alarmed by the surge of frustration that pulsated through the Force and over their heightened bond; or C) because for the past two weeks, looking after Obi-Wan seems to be his new hobby/pet project.

Obi-Wan is inclined to think all three, especially when Anakin forces him into a chair and immediately grabs a dustpan from under the kitchen sink. "Here –" he says as he starts sweeping the spilled tea leaves into the dustpan.

The gesture is sweet, in a way. It was at first, at any rate – now he is all but being spoon-fed by his Padawan, and quite frankly it's not only getting embarrassing, but also rather annoying. Though, Obi-Wan thinks helplessly, spoon-feeding can't be too far behind at this rate. It's like he's not allowed to do _anything_ anymore.

"Anakin, it's all right," Obi-Wan says. "I can do that. I didn't mean to interrupt your evening."

Anakin looks up at him from the floor, a wide helpful smile plastered on his face. "It's okay, Master, let me do it. I'll make the tea if you'd like."

Obi-Wan only just manages to refrain from reminding Anakin that the last time he tried to make tea, he burnt down their apartment and four surrounding residences. "No, forget it. I'm not thirsty anymore."

"Well…you look tired. Perhaps you should get some rest?"

It is no doubt meant to be said with good intent, but Obi-Wan is unable to shake the feeling that Anakin is patronising him, treating him like a wounded child who needs to be put to bed; and the worst thing about this behaviour is that Anakin is not actually doing anything explicitly _wrong_. "You're being particularly…obliging as of late," he manages to say.

"It's the least I can do." Blue eyes gaze at him through lowered smoky eyelashes, and Obi-Wan is struck with an urge to tenderly press his hand to Anakin's face, to feel his warm, soft skin under his lightsaber-calloused and trembling hand – though this feeling is quickly crushed by Anakin's next words. "I'm sorry, Master."

For the briefest, sickening second, Obi-Wan imagines striking Anakin across the face with an open palm, the same cheek he had just wanted to caress, to make him stop. _Stop what?_ Swallowing the wave of nausea, disgusted by his own thoughts, he pulls himself to his feet and pushes Anakin's arms away. "Yes, well – goodnight, Anakin," he mumbles, and flees the kitchen as quickly as he can.

He hadn't _really_ been about to slap Anakin. He's tired, nothing more.

He hates having no control over anything anymore.

* * *

The second time Obi-Wan's leg gives out on him in two weeks is the first time it does so in the middle of the Jedi Temple. The muffled cry draws almost everyone's attention in the vicinity as Obi-Wan collapses to the floor in an unceremonious heap, his arm stunned from bracing his fall. Anakin immediately crouches beside him.

"Master, are you all right?"

_I'm fine_, he tries to say, and is stopped by Anakin's arms wrap around his torso. "Anakin, just keep walking," he mutters, but Anakin ignores him. "Anakin, _please_."

_I need to do this myself. Can't you understand…?_

He is pulled up and Anakin pulls his arm over his shoulder so that he is being half-carried, half-dragged, and everyone's eyes follow them through the Temple.

He wants to wrench his arm out of Anakin's grasp, but he can't. If he pushes Anakin away, in front of everyone, he will destroy months' worth of hard work in regaining his trust – Anakin will not see it as Obi-Wan saving his own dignity. He will see it as a public slight, perhaps taking it to mean that despite what has been said, his Master really does blame him, and then they'll be straight back at square one and Obi-Wan knows he doesn't have the strength for that.

So Obi-Wan lets Anakin help him walk, keeping his face empty of the anguish and humiliation which is threatening with each passing second to seep out from behind his water-tight shields. _Hey, look! Master Kenobi can't even get up on his own anymore!_ He ignores the stares of passing Jedi while pretending Anakin's arm is not wrapped firmly around his waist. Pretending that he is not mortified by having to be practically carried through the Temple by his Padawan learner, proving that, after everything, he really is nothing more than a cripple who is holding the Chosen One back.

Bitterly he recalls that it was not too long ago, on Dantooine, when he revered Anakin's concern and touch. Now, he can't stand it. Dantooine was one thing; at least there the only witnesses to the effects of his wounds were only Iriaz and the occasional Kath Hound. At least there he could just be Obi-Wan. Here, in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, he is surrounded by other Jedi. Council Members, Knights, Padawans – even Initiates and Younglings. Here, he is crippled Knight Kenobi who failed to prevent the outbreak of war by succumbing to Dooku's superior fighting style.

Why is Anakin doing this? If he wanted to help, he could have just helped him up and let him walk on his own. But no, now every Jedi in the vicinity has seen that Anakin is taking such _wonderful_ care of his poor crippled Master, and no doubt is going to be the Temple's new martyr, showing everyone how the Chosen One is sacrificing his war duties to carry his lame Master around.

He doesn't look at Anakin once until they reach their apartment. And even there, he spares nothing more than a glance and a mumbled 'thanks' before heading to his room so that he doesn't have to listen to Anakin apologising again.

* * *

When he receives a message a few weeks later informing him that the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic Senate is requesting a private audience with him, Obi-Wan is torn between scowling and looking/feeling surprised. In the end, as he makes himself look presentable and ensures once more that Anakin is out and will not return any time soon, he simply settles for a sigh, rubs his aching leg, and mutters, "I have a bad feeling about this."

Obi-Wan isn't particularly fond of the Chancellor, though he's never really figured out why aside from the fact that he is a politician, and Politicians Are Not To Be Trusted. There is also something a bit, well, _creepy_ about the red chambers – politician aside, Palpatine has positively appalling taste in design.

A few useless pleasantries are exchanged, leaving Obi-Wan wondering what it is exactly that Palpatine wants from him. No doubt it is something about Anakin; that's the only reason he can think of. It's not as though Palpatine has ever showed such disturbing interest in _Obi-Wan_, maybe because he isn't the _Chosen One_, and his leg must be worse than usual if he's started to think in a snide voice…

Sure enough, after a few polite queries about his recovery, the conversation twists to Anakin. "It is good that he is helping you, taking responsibility."

Reflex: "It was not his fault."

At seeing the Chancellor's slightly confused face, Obi-Wan realises that Anakin's role in contributing to his injuries was not really what Palpatine meant. "Of course it was not, though I do understand what a difficult time he's been going through. I know I did after a terrible accident that crippled my late wife."

Another reflex: "I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Knight Kenobi, it was many years ago. It was a terrible time, for the both of us. She had always been so strong before the accident. You rather remind me of her."

He doesn't know which is more disturbing: the comparison between him and a crippled woman, or him and Palpatine's wife. "Oh?" is call he can say, all of his negotiational skills abandoning him in that swift second.

"Yes. Resilient, patient, strong-willed. She could have been a Jedi in another life. Of course, in the end, her injuries became too much for her and she…suffocated. Metaphorically speaking, of course."

Obi-Wan gets the feeling that he is missing something. "Of course," he mutters absently.

"That is to say, her situation smothered her and she committed suicide, despite my constant support."

_Perhaps_, Obi-Wan thinks, _or was it _you_ who became too much for her?_ _How much can one person take of false sympathy? How much can one person take of living with the knowledge that the one they care for and trust implicitly has twisted the situation to suit the other's conceit?_

The Chancellor is overconfident, cocky – self-righteous. So sure that what he was doing was the right thing with no consideration for his wife's emotions. Just like how he is now treating the Republic.

_Just like Anakin_, is the snide whisper in the back of his mind that makes him shiver. He quickly pushes this thought away, ashamed for even considering it.

As the Chancellor continues talking, something about how his wife used to love to run and became depressed because she wasn't able to after the accident, and something about a best friend who died after her, Obi-Wan inadvertently tunes out, hiding his shaking hands in the sleeves of his robes and lowering his head so that Palpatine can't see the blood draining from his face. His stomach churns and he knows he needs to get out of here _right now_, butwhether this is because of what Palpatine is telling him or the fact that he is starting to draw a hideous parallel between the Chancellor and Anakin, he doesn't know, but he prays to the Force that it is the first.

"Forgive me, Chancellor, but I really must head off. I have a further appointment with the Council – an update on the war." Any excuse to get away from this man.

"Ah, of course. The Battle of Kamino, I presume? Terrible business. The losses thus far have been devastating. It is a shame you are unable to take to the front line. I would have expected Anakin to be made a Commander by now, maybe even a General – I know he is very eager to join in the effort –"

"The Council is opposed to sending Padawans to battle." _Unless they are accompanied by their Master._

"Even Senior Padawans?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm sure Anakin is keeping himself busy."

The unspoken words are louder than everything that has already been said: _I'm sure Anakin is keeping himself busy looking after _you_._

"How has he been since I last spoke to him?"

"Well. Still brash and eager to jump into action, however. He has been very…" Obi-Wan nearly chokes on the word, "helpful, since Geonosis."

"It's only in his nature to look after others. He almost reminds me of me when I was that age. Do say hello to Anakin for me, won't you?"

"Of course, Chancellor."

The moment he reaches his apartment complex in the Temple, he staggers through to the 'fresher and dry heaves into the sink, glad only for the fact that he didn't feel like eating earlier. Shuddering, Obi-Wan closes his eyes and blesses the Force that he doesn't have to face Anakin right now.

* * *

Mace Windu is many things, but a counsellor he is not.

Obi-Wan found this out the hard way when a few years ago, at the not-so-young age of thirty-four, he discovered with horror that he was greying at the temples. Distraught, he sought out the Korun Master to loudly despair to, hoping for a bit of sympathy, but all he received was a sharp slap on the back of his head and was told to pull it together otherwise he'd wake up the next morning shaved bald.

Which is why it is surprising when Mace is rarely, but genuinely, concerned. "Are you all right, Obi-Wan?"

While touched, he really, truly hates that question and wishes people would stop asking it – and he doesn't think he can say 'I'm fine' one more time without screaming. "He said, turning serious all of a sudden."

The weak joke falls flat.

"He said, being evasive all of a sudden," Mace shoots back, an eyebrow raised. "This has to do with the boy, doesn't it?"

Usually, Obi-Wan would gently but firmly remind Mace that 'the boy's' name is Anakin and he would appreciate it if he used it once in a while, but right now, he can't be bothered. "I didn't say that," he protests.

Mace is not fooled. "I thought the whole point of the sabbatical was so the two of you could work out your issues."

"They are sorted out." Not a lie.

"Then what is going on?" Mace demands.

"Nothing, Mace," Obi-Wan says a little more sharply than intended, then lets his shoulders slump a little and looks away. "I didn't come here to talk about this – I…"

He trails off, suddenly unwilling to continue. Fear grips him – what if Mace does exactly the same thing as Anakin, and decides that he is too weak, too damaged, to ever fight again? What if he looks at him with that same patronising, pitying stare, and refuses to spar with him because he's an invalid, no longer a rising star of the Order?

"You…" Mace prompts, and Obi-Wan forces it out before he can be completely paralysed by this fear he should not be feeling.

"I came to ask if I could spar with you."

Mace doesn't scoff or look surprised, like Obi-Wan was dreading he would. "If you think you're up to it," he says instead, and Obi-Wan nearly closes his eyes in relief and breathes deeply.

"I do."

"Very well. I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

"You're sparring? With who?"

Obi-Wan wishes Anakin wouldn't sound so dismayed. "Master Windu."

"Why?"

Obi-Wan can hear the real question. _Why? You can barely walk as it is._

"Because he doesn't treat me like I'm going to break at any given moment." The words are not intended to be spiteful but that's exactly how they come out.

Anakin bows his head as if torn between hurt, anger, and guilt. The last one wins out; Anakin peers up with his startling blue eyes and lowered smoky eyelashes. "I'm sorry."

He can't breathe. It's all he can hear, _I'm sorry, I'm sorry_ – once he had longed for his Padawan's genuine regret, but it's all he ever says now and he probably doesn't even mean it anymore, the words are so hollow – "Stop it!" he snaps, and feels rather than sees Anakin recoiling. "Just _stop apologising!_ I don't – I can't keep listening to this – I – I can't do this anymore, I can't _live_ like this. Every day you remind me, you don't give me the chance to just let go and move on! You keep saying you're sorry, but isn't just for me anymore, is it? It's so you can appease yourself, because you enjoy the sense of gratification you get when I forgive you time and time again."

He doesn't even know what he's saying or why, just that he needs to.

"No –" Anakin tries to say, but Obi-Wan can't hear it. His hand twists in his auburn hair tightly as if searching for an anchor.

"Somehow, just like everything else, you have managed to twist this situation to feed your narcissism," he says, or maybe spits or snarls, he isn't sure, _I need to regain control over something – can't you see that you've taken everything? My independence, my dignity –_ "blast it, Anakin, when are you going to realise that this is not about your pathological need to be in the glare of publicity? I don't need your help, and I most certainly do _not_ need your meaningless apologies!"

He isn't too sure of what happens after this; he distantly recalls Anakin's stricken face and waves of hurt and confusion rolling across their bond which could belong to either Obi-Wan or Anakin. He remembers leaving before Anakin could say anything, or maybe Anakin _did_ say something but Obi-Wan didn't listen or didn't give him a chance to talk. Minutes, or maybe it's hours, later he is alone in a cold hallway trying to breathe. His heavy pounding heart drowns out his gasps and distracts his mind from his throbbing leg; he thinks maybe he was running, for it to be hurting like this, and it is only as he regains his breath and wipes the sweat from his forehead that he realises what has just happened.

When Anakin is frustrated with Obi-Wan, he will hurt him with words, with actions – always reaching for the throat, knowing precisely what will cut the deepest without stopping to think. When Obi-Wan is frustrated with Anakin, he will use silence as his weapon for the exact same reason; it hurts Anakin the most. Except he didn't. Not just now.

That wasn't him. This _isn't_ him. As shakily he rests his head against the cold stone wall, a weak and trembling feeling infiltrates his chest. He wonders with wet and stinging eyes when exactly it was that he started to lose control of everything in his life.

_Force, what have I done_…


	18. A Certain Point Of View II

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Sixteen –  
A Certain Point Of View II

The Senate is my realm – here I am not a pretty face, or Padmé Naberrie. Here, I am Senator Amidala of Naboo, one of the most influential women in the Republic, and it is a title I bear with possibly a little too much pride. I have worked hard for Naboo and for myself, and I have worked hard for the democracy I believe in with my heart and soul, which is why I now stand to address the Senate. They are deathly silent; not a murmur can be heard and the only thing I can hear is the steady pounding of my heart, heavy against my chest. Outwardly I am the epitome of stoicism and resolution, as they expect me to be and as I expect myself to be.

"Three months," I begin, my voice firm and echoing around the chambers. "Three months into the Clone Wars and the death toll is increasing tenfold each day. Honoured Senators, please hear me. Since this war began, we have neglected the single ideal which has held this Republic intact since its formation."

I make eye contact with the man who was once my friend and political mentor, in the middle of the Senate on his podium – so near, and yet so untouchable.

"Peace, Your Excellency."

A low murmur hums through the cold, impersonal rows, some disapproving and some in agreement. My eyes do not waver; I ignore the mass.

"Peace at this present moment is impossible, Senator Amidala," the Chancellor replies gracefully, his eyes not leaving from mine.

I frown. "How so? Negotiation –"

"The Separatists are refusing negotiations and settlements."

I dislike being broken off – immensely. And he knows this. "Perhaps we are too eager to rely on brute force than have the patience for compromise," I press, barely hiding my annoyance. "It is imperative, now more than ever before, that we strive for a peace settlement – thousands are dying every day, every hour, innocent civilians –"

"Dying because the Separatists are attacking our systems and cannot be reasoned with. If there was any hope for a diplomatic solution, I would have found it."

He has used this excuse before, and the more he says it the less I believe him. And yet, the more he says it, the more the Senate believes him.

"So you choose to give into the lust of war?"

"We are cornered and have no choice."

Palpatine's voice is smooth and convincing, as gentle and as trustworthy as it was the day I was elected Queen of Naboo and he offered his congratulations and support. It is no wonder the Senate trusts him so – I trusted him too.

"We must commence negotiations!" I insist. "This war has raged for more than two months; two months too many! Myself and many others in the Senate support the call of a ceasefire to allow negotiations. Senators, listen to me! This is not a war which can be won with weapons – all that will result is stalemate and lives pointlessly lost, we have seen this before too often in the past! Too far have we strayed from the democracy which is the backbone, heart, and foundation of the Galactic Republic, and we need to return to a democratic solution before the path dissolves before our very eyes! We must return to peace –"

"Senator Amidala, your quest is noble but the Separatists don't _want_ negotiations, they want blood and they want victory and they want to see the Republic crushed. The only way to call a ceasefire is to defend with weapons – they will not listen to words, and words cannot save a civilian from firepower! They have left the Republic no choice! You forget that we are not the aggressors in this war –"

"Are you sure, Chancellor?"

There is a collective intake of breath when I interrupt him. A low drone ripples around the Senatorial chairs as if they can't quite believe my nerve – how _dare_ I interrupt the Chancellor, and in such an insolent manner as well?

"Can anyone here be sure of that?" I continue ruthlessly, taking advantage of the moment of shock that has stunned the chamber. "Is this war not called the _Clone Wars?_ Does that not imply, in the slightest, that _we_ are contributing to the aggression, that the formation of the Army of the Republic was the equivalent of a declaration of war on the Separatists? Every blow we suffer we return in higher proportions. What makes our tactics more acceptable than the Separatists' tactics – what makes us nobler in this war than them if all we are doing is slaughtering them as fast as they can slaughter us? We must emerge from this conflict as a democracy!"

Palpatine has recovered. "Democracy will be preserved, this I promise you. We fight in defence, and we will fight as long as we must to preserve the Republic."

As Palpatine answers for the Senate, as the Senate murmurs approvingly and nods and claps like a good audience, it becomes clear in that moment: I am not fighting the Republic's morals. I am not even fighting the Separatists.

I am fighting the person who has become the Senate – and he knows it.

I can't believe I am about to do this; I shouldn't. It will either make me or destroy me and I pray with every fibre of my being that it will not be the latter and every muscle in my body tenses as I narrow my eyes and spit out, "What Republic?"

A supernova would have been less violent.

The Senate explodes; thousands scream in protest at the same time, furious, eyes wild and podiums screeching. Hundreds more cover their ears but it does nothing; I am deafened regardless, but I do not cringe when the Senate turns its wrath towards me. There is something so surreal about this, and my mind is blank. Did I really just do that? Did I really just _say_ that? Amidala, you idiot, what is _wrong_ with you?

"_This is an outrage –!"_

"– _No, she's right –"_

"_You go too far, Amidala!"_

"_TREASON!"_

"_ORDER, _ORDER!_"_

It is the exact reaction I had both hoped for and dreaded. I have done this; I have turned the Senate into a violent pack of depraved animals screaming for blood, _my _blood, have made them dissolve into an angry mob on the verge of a schism, but so many, too many, are against me. "ORDER!" Mas Amedda booms, "WE SHALL HAVE _ORDER!_"

The effect is small, but enough for me to break through again. "Is democracy enforced with a blaster democracy at all, Chancellor?" I all but scream over the roars of bloodthirsty creatures. I turn to them. "Is it, Senators? Can't you see what is happening? We are turning into the very thing we are fighting – and we, the Senate, are allowing this! Every week we sacrifice more powers to our esteemed Chancellor, but still we have not come to a diplomatic resolution. When will we stop imitating the Separatists and return to the morals of the Republic?"

"There are times when we must all endure adjustment to the Constitution in the name of security."

"But you can end this war, Chancellor!" I cry. "You have this power to stop this escalation of bloodshed before we reach a point of no return – I ask you, _beg_ you, to commence negotiations!"

I can feel the mass being swayed by my words, some of them agree, it must be enough, it must be –

"While I and the Senate respect your opinion, Senator Amidala, your point is moot."

The 't' on 'moot' is so crisp he might as well have spat it out, and it acts like a small sonic grenade of persuasion around the Senatorial chamber. I hide a shudder and a look of mortification as Palpatine breaks eye contact and turns to address the Senate.

"Senators, the Separatists _do not want_ negotiations! If I had the power to call an end to this war, I would have done so. As it is, all we can do is protect our Republic the only way left to us – with our Army, and with the full support of the Senate, and the support of the Jedi, the keepers of peace! The Separatists will not stop until this Republic is burned to the ground and I _will not let that happen!_ We must stay strong – words will not protect lives, only physical defence will!"

There is a cheer from the discontent, restless mass.

"We are not the aggressors, we are the defenders of democracy, and until the Separatists are brought to their knees and agree to negotiation, I will defend this Republic with my dying breath, if it comes to that!"

Another collective cheer, louder, one that seems to shake the chamber. They want blood.

Palpatine is giving it to them.

"We will do whatever it takes to preserve our Republic – and if it means war, then _so be it!_"

An explosion: thunderous applause. Roaring takes over, drowning each other out, and I can no longer hear anything, barely even my own thoughts. I am forgotten now – thrust aside by the overwhelming support for the Chancellor's promises. If I speak again now they will turn on me and brand me as a traitor – if they could even hear me over the din. With this, he seals his case, and there is no more argument. I sit down slowly, shakily, and keep my hands pressed together on my lap as I watch the Republic I live for, the Republic I have devoted my life to, start to corrode before my very eyes.

And I can do nothing.

I can do absolutely nothing about it, except watch, and silently grieve. I struggle to find remnants of the man who tutored me as a teenager in politics, the pacifist whose only concern was Naboo's freedom.

I cannot find him, and suddenly I begin to wonder if he was ever there at all.

To my far left I see Bail Organa of Alderaan shake his head and press his lips into a fine line. On his other side is Senator Mon Mothma, who watches Palpatine with a cool indifference – inside, she is probably seething.

Tears prick at the back of my eyes but I will not allow myself to cry. As long as I live, the Senate shall never witness my tears.

* * *

"Mistress Padmé! Mistress Padmé!"

I wince at the droid's shrill tone. _Why_ did I let Anakin give him to me?

"Mistress Padmé!"

"Yes, C-3PO," I say wearily. I haven't even had one full hour to myself. Just _one_ hour, that's all I want –

"Master Anakin is at the door! Would you have me grant him entrance?"

I blink in surprise. "Thank you, C-3PO. Show Padawan Skywalker in and tell him I shall be with him shortly."

Anakin? What is he doing here? Not that I am not, well, _pleased_ to have him here. It is very unexpected. I would have thought he was busy with the war and Obi-Wan. In fact, I had _hoped_ he would be kept busy; I really haven't the patience or time for him, however much it pains me to think that. Although…he _is_ a welcome distraction, and I have missed him dearly. I glance in the vanity for a bare moment to make sure I look presentable, which I do not. The day has taken its toll on me; my hair is falling out of its piece and my eyeliner has smudged, but I don't have time to fix it up. Anakin won't care that I look like I've fallen down a flight of stairs. He's seen me covered in sand and blood, after all.

Though, I think a bit stupidly when I see him, he looks _much_ worse than I do, and that's saying a lot.

He's a mess. Eyes raw and red, face streaked with tear tracks, Anakin Skywalker is a mass of trembling nerves on my couch. He is staring at the back of his right hand, which is bloodied. I hope he hasn't been in a fight – "Anakin!" I exclaim. "What –?"

Through panicked gasps he manages to get out, "It's Obi-Wan, he – I don't – the Chancellor said – I'm –"

What? "Shh, shh, you're not making any sense." I descend onto the couch beside him and grasp his hands, careful not to touch the seeping grazes. "What happened to Obi-Wan?"

"He's angry at me and I don't know why! I mean, I _do_ know why but I don't understand, and I went to see the Chancellor but all he told me was that Obi-Wan is jealous and he's not and every time I visit the Chancellor he tells me something he makes me believe him and I don't know what to think – "

"Anakin! Take a deep breath and tell me what happened. From the beginning."

Anakin throws himself back into the couch and shifts uncomfortably as though he's sitting on something. He digs around his back pocket in annoyance and pulls out a commlink then throws it on the table, takes a couple of shaky breaths and says, "Obi-Wan got really mad with me today."

Obi-Wan angry at Anakin? I'm very tempted to ask 'what did you do?' though I somehow get the feeling that it won't go down very well. "Why?"

"I think it's his leg. I'm doing something wrong. All I want to do is help him! Why can't he understand that? It's my fault anyway –"

He's still babbling but he's not going to get more coherent than this. "What did he say?"

"He told me to stop apologising, and – and he said that I wasn't even apologising because I was sorry anymore, and that I turned everything around to fit me instead of him or something like that – he always uses bigger words – and then he stormed out and I don't know what to do!"

_Damn you, Obi-Wan_. I think I know what happened. This is definitely _not _the distraction I was hoping for.

"Okay," I say. "And what happened with the Chancellor?"

"You know I'm close to him."

_Disturbingly close, more like._

"I went to him to ask his advice, just now, but he…he tells me things. I don't think it's on purpose, but I don't like it. Not anymore. I told him what Obi-Wan said and he said that Master is jealous of me and perhaps really _does_ hate me and all this other stuff but I know he doesn't, not after Dantooine. And the scary part is, I nearly believed him. I nearly started believing again that Obi-Wan hates me but I can't, I won't, because – because –"

"Because?"

"Because he told me. Obi-Wan told me that he loves me. On Dantooine. The Chancellor –"

"Is wrong! Oh, Anakin, if only you knew just how much Obi-Wan cares for you." _If only you knew how well the Chancellor manipulates situations._

"I do know! But he – I thought I – I was only trying to help him, why…?"

_Why does he hate me now, after everything?_ is the question that isn't spoken. Bitterness seeps through his hurt expression; the beginnings of anger. Anakin Skywalker is still, despite everything, an emotionally-driven man and can't think about this rationally; he is hurt and confused, and I have to tread carefully here because if I get this wrong, that hurt and confusion will transform into violent anger. I mentally heave a sigh. I'm not sure when my role changed from being the Chosen One's true love to his personal counsellor, though I can't say which one is easier. I'm inclined to say lover. Damn it, I have too much to deal with at the Senate already without this! Damn it, Obi-Wan, damn it, damn it, _damn it_. _This is a really bad time for you to fall apart again, Obi-Wan!_

"Anakin…" I start cautiously. I have to be gentle with this. Anakin is on the verge of anger, and I am not strong enough to act as his buffer or have the physical strength to push back. I'm not _Obi-Wan_, at least when he's in his right of mind. "Imagine for a moment your positions were reversed. How would you feel if…if you were the one injured, and every time you went somewhere, Obi-Wan followed you around with his arms wide open to catch you, and he said sorry every second of the day?" Anakin blinks. "Imagine how you'd feel, thinking that the person you trust most in the galaxy sees you as nothing more than a handicapped person in need of constant aid."

He is silent, thinking. This is my advantage over him; no matter what happens between us, he is still someone I care deeply about, and I am someone he will always admire and listen to.

"You'd get paranoid, eventually hysterical…" I continue. "You know how Obi-Wan is; he would never tell anyone that he wasn't feeling all right. He never admits to any sort of weakness –"

"– Physical or mental, until it's almost too late. He's too proud, like me," he eventually mumbles and the anger retreats, then he groans and buries his face in his hands. "I'd probably end up hating him. Why can't I do anything right?"

My hands find their way to his shoulders and he looks up. "You didn't do anything _wrong_. It was wrong of Obi-Wan to lash out at you like that, but understandable. You were just trying to help, and I'm sure he'll see that soon. He's probably beating himself up over what he said."

Somehow I get the feeling that Anakin stopped listening sometime during that small speech. He's staring at my lips and I'm staring at his, and I'm acutely aware of how close we're sitting. "Anakin?" I murmur.

"Hmm." I can feel his breath on my cheek, his body heat warming me.

"Geonosis –" I try to get out half-heartedly. This is happening too quickly and I can't think about this properly –

"I know."

Does he know? Can I allow myself to be weak, allow this distraction, just this once? It's not right, it goes against everything I told him about our duty on Geonosis and Dantooine, and I don't know who moved first but suddenly we're kissing and I don't really care anymore, just that he needs this, and _I_ need this, right now.

I'm tired of fighting everything.

* * *

It was messy and desperate and over far too quickly.

I do not consider myself a spiteful person, but sometimes certain circumstances call for it. Anakin Skywalker is many things, but a considerate lover he is not, which is why I now watch with wholly inappropriate satisfaction as his Jedi robes fly out of the window and fall to certain destruction on the ground level of Coruscant, mostly likely never to be seen again. It is also why I contact Master Mace Windu to come and please retrieve this naked sleeping Padawan who is sprawled across my bed. No, I have absolutely no idea what he is doing here, Master Windu. Why, no, Master Windu, I did not just have unsatisfactory sex with the Chosen One leading to me tossing his clothes out the window because I'm annoyed he didn't make me climax, although that was an oddly specific question. Oh, you followed him here. In that case, I don't believe that was entirely appropriate of you, Master Windu, but you're welcome to come in now. Yes, _he's_ finished. Would you like something to drink?

…That doesn't actually _happen_.

Well, not the contacting-Mace-Windu part at least. I really do toss Anakin's clothes out the window and feel inappropriately satisfied as I watch them soar to the lower levels, never to see the light of day again.

Perhaps this is less about not climaxing and more about my terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day at the Senate. Essentially, I've used Anakin just now as much as he used me – a way to release emotions. There was no love in our joining, just desperation. It's not how I wanted our first time together to be. I had expected something…a little more romantic. Then again, there's no real time for romance anymore, what with the _war_ and _duty_ and everything. Perhaps it's for the best that this wasn't driven by our love for each other. I probably wouldn't have been able to let him go if that happened.

Of course, that doesn't stop me from being slightly bitter that _he_ got the better end of the deal.

Honestly. Men.

I do not make casual, impersonal sex a habit. In fact, it never happens, but something about being around Anakin Skywalker weakens my resolve. I'm left feeling dirty – not because I feel used by Anakin, or because I tried to use him just as much, but because I lost control of myself and I can't let that happen again. I wish we _were_ married. All of this would have been so much easier to handle. But something has changed between us, and whether it is for the better or worse I cannot say. I still love him, but I am not overwhelmed anymore. My passion for him has been redirected to the Republic. His passion for me, I think, is now for Obi-Wan.

As it should be.

Selfish tears are halted when Anakin's commlink beeps on the table. I'm not sure whether I should answer it or not, but I jump when Mace Windu's voice thunders over it. I guess he must have it on an auto-answer setting.

"_Skywalker, this is Master Windu. Pick up your commlink."_

Hmm. Maybe I should wake Anakin up –

"_Skywalker? Skywalker! You pick this commlink up _right now_ or you'll be on lightsaber cleaning duty under my direct supervision until you're forty!"_

Then again…

"_Are you ignoring me? Skywalker, I demand you answer this instant – SKYWALKER! THIS IS IMPORTANT! ANSWER – YOUR – COMMLINK – _NOW!_"_

* * *

Well, at least I was not so spiteful as to _not_ politely ask Master Windu if he could please bring along a spare set of clothes for Anakin, since his undergarments, tunic and robe were _accidentally_ thrown out of the same inconveniently opened window.

Ten minutes later, Mace Windu storms through my apartment towards Anakin, only stopping to tell me he thought my address to the Senate was very impressive, and I casually sip my tea when I hear Anakin's startled yelp from the bedroom.

Really, it's for the best. I can't be a good counsellor when I'm sleeping with him. It impedes my judgement horribly and I find myself doing stupid things. Such as throwing clothes out of a window after single-handedly destroying my own career.

Even if it did make me feel better, and the slightest bit guilty.

Okay, _extremely_ guilty, even though I didn't toss out his lightsaber or utility belt with the rest of his stuff. I shouldn't have taken my anger out on Anakin. It wasn't his fault.

Well. The _Senate_ isn't his fault, at any rate.

* * *

Anakin comes out of my bedroom shortly after Master Windu storms back out, wearing a light beige tunic that reminds me Obi-Wan's. It looks a little strange on him – a massive contrast to his usual black leather slacks, but no less pleasing. It makes him look less dangerous than his usual dark and brooding self. I silently offer him a cup of tea which he gratefully accepts. We sip our beverages in silence; he spends most of his time staring into his cup, and I spend mine staring at him. I think his hair looks good longer, slightly shaggy. It gives him a more mature look. I would say as much, except he is deep in thought and I don't wish to disturb him. I wish I knew what he was thinking about. I used to be able to – Anakin is terrible at hiding his emotions. They fly across his face like an open book for the galaxy to read…but now, he contemplates as though imitating Obi-Wan. Unreadable, unreachable. For some reason, this annoys me.

I don't want him to be unreadable.

Curiously, he asks nothing about his other clothes. Not that I particularly _want_ him to or anything.

Finally, he sets his cup down and opens his mouth to talk. "What's your favourite colour?"

…No, I definitely wasn't expecting that. The conversation which follows is short and peculiar and I'm left feeling as though I'm missing something, and Anakin presses a kiss to my lips, and whispers 'thank you' into my hair before he leaves in pursuit of Obi-Wan.

And then I am alone again.

Still, I know he'll be all right now. Obi-Wan has helped him as I never would have been able to – the change in him is startling. His presence is less burdened; his gaze, although as intense as it was by the lake on Naboo, is freer.

I, on the other hand, am a certifiable idiot and may have just destroyed my political career.

* * *

"Mistress Padmé!"

Oh, for the love of – what _now?_

"_Yes_, C-3PO."

"Senator Organa is at the door!"

Bail? Probably here to rightfully scold me about what an idiot I am for my demonstration today at the Senate, which is the last thing I need. Still, he is a friend and probably shouldn't turn him away. I need to keep whatever friends I have left close. "Thank you. Will you show him in?"

C-3PO shuffles away and I take a moment to brush a few creases out of my dress.

"Good evening, Senator Amidala," Bail greets when I emerge from my room.

"Please, Bail, I've told you before to call me Padmé. What can I do for you?"

"I simply wished to tell you how much I admired you in the Senate today. Your speech was…incredible. You were very courageous to do what you did."

_Completely idiotic, you mean._ But his compliment warms me and makes me feel that little bit less wretched. At least someone aside from an anti-Palpatine Jedi thinks I am right. "Thank you, Bail, but your admiration is hardly deserved. My words swayed few." In fact, I'll be lucky if I'm not branded as a traitor to Palpatine by the end of the week.

At that thought, I start a little. That's how bad it's getting, I realise. I won't be branded as a traitor to the Republic; I'll be branded as a traitor to _Palpatine._

_And the war has only just begun…who knows how long it will go on for?_

"You swayed more than you believe," Bail consoles. "I confess, Senator, that I do have an ulterior motive in coming here. In light of your speech today, I wish to extend an invitation to you – there is a small private meeting at Cantham House(1) between myself and a Republic Loyalist whom I trust implicitly. We are to discuss…matters of the Senate, so to speak, in a weeks' time. If you have no plans, I would be honoured to have you."

I am tired of the Senate and I am tempted to tell him 'no' and turn him away. But I can't do that, because that is not who I am.

I am a Loyalist now, to the Republic, and it is my responsibility to do what I must to save it, even from itself. "Thank you, Bail. I will be there."

* * *

I am _not_ impressed. Imagine my utter _surprise_ when I discovered that the Republic Loyalist whom Bail _trusts implicitly_ is actually Ex-Chancellor Finis Valorum.

I turn glare at Bail, which he either ignores or doesn't realise he is receiving, but I swear, if looks could kill the Alderaanian Prince would have been dead two minutes ago.

"Senator Amidala," Valorum greets coolly.

"Valorum," I reply stiffly, and nothing more is said between us as Bail takes us to his office.

_Bail Prestor Organa, you complete and utter _moron_, what in the nine hells of Corellia are you thinking putting me in the same room as the man whose career I destroyed more than eleven years ago?_

"How have you been, Finis?"

"As well as can be expected. I have spent much of my time writing my autobiography and working with the refugee relief movement…"

I can say many things about Valorum, coloured by my own personal bias, but I don't refute his claims. He is, despite his inaction and the controversies that surround him, a good-hearted man. Not that this sways me in the slightest – I still have no love for him.

"…I have no hope of rebuilding my career," and this _is_ aimed at me, the bastard, "but I have been watching the politics of Coruscant very carefully. I can't believe what I'm seeing. Have you all completely lost your minds?"

Bail looks startled. "I beg your pardon?"

"_Palpatine!_ I have been observing Palpatine's actions, both public and private, from a distance," Valorum announces, and the door locks behind me when we enter Bail's private office. "Surely you have noticed how the Chancellor's opponents, like Ashgad(2), have a habit of disappearing?"

Bail nods once, a little hesitantly, and Valorum continues ruthlessly.

"Then you have also noticed that the more powers the Senate votes him the more he asks for? And still they _give _it to him!"

"These are desperate times, Finis. The powers given to him are temporary –"

"Temporary? Bail – you –" Valorum splutters. "The Senate barters away fundamental rights upon which the Republic was built! You trust that the tyrant you are creating will give them back to you when the crisis is over? Palpatine will give back _nothing!_ No-one who seeks power the way that he does ever surrenders it willingly. Palpatine will make sure that any individual or group that opposes him or is in his way is removed. Look at what happened to King Veruna!(3) Look what happened to me! I _know_ it was Palpatine who framed me, using your naivety in politics at the time, Senator Amidala. I was forced to resign as Chancellor so he could ascend to it!"(4)

"Have you any proof of this?" I cringe internally when Valorum turns a hard glare towards me. I refuse to be deterred and I continue: "You realise that without proof your accusations, however founded, sound like nothing more than the ramblings of a scorned and paranoid man."

"Not as such," he grits out, "but you cannot deny that you are not having the same thoughts. I witnessed your speech last week, Senator Amidala. You, at least, have some idea of what is going on." Then a ghost of a smile brushes his lips, and I almost get the feeling that he's the faintest bit grudgingly impressed. "What Republic, indeed. But if you are not careful, my Lady, he will remove you as swiftly as he removed me." He turns away swiftly before I can answer back and addresses Bail. "Now, Senator Organa, I wish to discuss with you the disturbing whispers of an Enhanced Security and Enforcement Act(5)…"

I close my eyes.

_What Republic, indeed_.

* * *

(1) Cantham House was Bail Prestor Organa's residence on Coruscant. It is likely that Cantham House was an Alderaanian embassy or state house rather than a private residence.

(2) Senator Seti Ashgad was very ambitious and used his connections in politics to be elected Senator during the Clone Wars. It was believed he wanted to take Palpatine's place as Supreme Chancellor. Shortly after he opposed the placement of cam droids in the Senate Building, he disappeared. The HoloNet News reported: _"Senator Seti Ashgad has disappeared, days after he protested the installation of the Senate's new cam droids. Palpatine's office says the timing is merely a coincidence."_

(3) Veruna, formally styled as His Royal Highness, King Veruna of Naboo, was Queen Amidala's predecessor and the last known King of Naboo. His reign ended in 33 BBY; he was found dead half a standard galactic year prior to the Invasion of Naboo (32 BBY, The Phantom Menace). Although his death was ruled accidental, many suspected foul play, possibly related to business ventures that he and then-Senator Palpatine had been involved in.

(4) Based on the actual speech Valorum gives to Bail Organa at Cantham House, 21 BBY (chronologically after the Battle of Jabiim, featured in the Star Wars: Clone Wars: Volume 5 ("The Best Blades") Dark Horse Comic Book: _"The Senate barters away fundamental rights upon which the Republic was built! You trust that the tyrant you are creating will give them back to you when the crisis is over? Palpatine will give back nothing! No one who seeks power the way that he does ever surrenders it willingly! …Palpatine will make sure that any individual or group that opposes him or is in his way is removed! Look what happened to King Veruna! Look what happened to me! I know it was Palpatine who had me framed. I was forced to resign as Chancellor so he could ascend to it! Just as I am certain he arranged for those pirates to attack your transport! …I have no more proof of that than I do that he masterminded my fall. If I did have it, Palpatine would be in chains this moment."_

(5) The Enhanced Security and Enforcement Act was a bill passed by the Galactic Senate during the Clone Wars at the behest of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine. The Act gave more of the Senate's powers to the Chancellor, and also gave away some fundamental rights of citizens to the central government. Among other things, the Act allowed for searches and seizures to be conducted without warrants or due process, and permitted the unrestricted use of observation droids. It also dealt harsh penalties for captured pirates, resulting in them preferring to fight to the death than to surrender.


	19. Esoteric Paranoid Hysteric

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Seventeen –  
Esoteric Paranoid Hysteric

Upon returning from Dantooine, the first the Council did was inform him that Palpatine requested a meeting with him, and for a brief second Anakin felt something he'd never experienced regarding the Chancellor: a flash of fear. It lasted half a second and no longer, and he's pretty sure Obi-Wan felt it, but it was so irrational and so fleeting that it might as well have not happened. There's nothing to be scared about, Anakin reminds himself firmly as he makes his way to Palpatine's chambers. Nothing to be worried about. It's just the Chancellor. Friend, remember?

And yet he can't get it out of his head – the way Palpatine made Anakin think that Obi-Wan was manipulating him and blaming him. It was all unintentional, of course – Palpatine doesn't know Obi-Wan nearly as well as he knows Anakin, and made a mistake in judging his character. All he needs to do now is tell the Chancellor that he was mistaken; Obi-Wan wasn't taking advantage of him or lying. Obi-Wan doesn't blame him.

Palpatine is, as always, delighted to see him. A few pleasantries are exchanged, as well as some idle chat about the war and how more systems are falling to the Separatists each week, and if _only_ Anakin was able to join in, but he no doubt needed those months off to recuperate after Geonosis with Obi-Wan. "How was your sabbatical?" Palpatine enquires politely.

"It was very helpful, Chancellor," Anakin says honestly.

"You seem different, my boy."

Although he suspects Palpatine doesn't necessarily mean this in a good way, Anakin hides a pleased grin. "Thank you, Chancellor." Different is good. He doesn't want to be that person he was in hyperspace from Geonosis to Coruscant, that person who tried to choke and strike Obi-Wan.

"And how is Master Kenobi recovering?"

"He's getting better, slowly. I sense at times he is frustrated." The words slip from his lips before he can think about them. "Sometimes I just don't know what to do…I feel so useless."

It's so easy to be honest with the Chancellor, to trust him with his doubts and fears. Despite what Palpatine may have said before, and made him think, he's always been a good listener and counsellor. "Such feelings are natural," Palpatine soothes. "This must all be terribly hard on you."

Anakin considers saying that it's harder on Obi-Wan…but, yes, it's also pretty hard on him, not knowing what else to do, how to help.

"Terribly hard," Palpatine murmurs again, and his wistful tone makes Anakin look up to see the Chancellor deep in thought. Palpatine's eyes are lost in the throes of a memory, his face relaxed and a touch nostalgic. "I once had a very close friend who suffered a permanent injury not unlike your Master's," Palpatine continues in that same distant voice, his eyes unseeing. "I regret that I was not with him as much as I should have been, during his recovery. He became depressed, self-loathing. Ah, if only I had paid as much attention to him as I did to politics. I believe he thought I had stopped caring for his well-being when I gave him distance…maybe even blamed me for not being there."

Anakin's blood runs cold. He thinks he should say something, but doesn't know what.

"He was such a strong man, before the accident. So calm, so straight-forward. In fact, Master Kenobi almost reminds me of him – very similar mentalities. I'd mistakenly believed he could overcome anything. I missed all of the warning signs, the fool that I was – he pushed me away, told me that he was fine and could do everything himself." Palpatine looks strained, and excruciatingly tired, as he says, "I believed him."

Anakin's face drains of colour. "What happened to him?"

"He committed suicide, not long after my wife passed on. He couldn't live with his injuries. Couldn't live with _me_ pretending he would get back to normal. You know, I never once told him how sorry I was, for choosing the route that got us into the crash. Not once." Palpatine sighs deeply and looks far older than Anakin has ever seen him. "It is something I regret most deeply."

Anakin tunes out after this, only half-listening to some tale about how Palpatine's best friend used to go running with his late wife and how his wife died shortly before the best friend or something like that, he doesn't know and he doesn't care. Doesn't Obi-Wan say the exact same thing? That he's _fine?_ That he is able to do things on his own?

And isn't Anakin doing the same thing as the Chancellor did with his friend? Believing him, not paying enough attention?

_He committed suicide…couldn't live with his injuries. Couldn't live with _me_ pretending he would get back to normal…_

"But I have the utmost faith that you are doing everything you can to aid Master Kenobi, Anakin. It's one of things I admire about you: the sheer magnitude of your heart."

The first thing Anakin does when he gets back to the apartment is apologise. Obi-Wan sighs a bit and gazes at him with tired eyes. "I know, Anakin."

* * *

No matter what he does, no matter how hard he tries to help, nothing seems to be working and Obi-Wan is as distant as ever. Gone is the closeness of mind and spirit from Dantooine – if anything, Obi-Wan seems to dislike the physical contact and aid Anakin has offered over the weeks, and this simple knowledge wounds him more deeply than an outright dismissal from his Master.

When Anakin discovers Obi-Wan is planning to spar today, he is surprised and the faintest bit concerned. "You're sparring? With who?"

"Master Windu," is the short response.

Although worried that it may too soon, and that Obi-Wan may hurt himself since it was not even two weeks ago he collapsed in the middle of a hallway, it also hurts Anakin that Obi-Wan hasn't asked _him_. "Why?" _Why not me?_ is the real question, but he dares not voice it when Obi-Wan seems to be so uncharacteristically on edge.

"Because he doesn't treat me like I'm going to break at any given moment," Obi-Wan says sharply, and Anakin flinches.

_What?_

Part of Anakin is determined to snap right back at Obi-Wan to defend himself, hurt that he would make such an accusation, but a ripple in the Force quells this. Something isn't right. He bows his head in thought, trying to hide the brief flash of hurt and anger, and of course the ever-present guilt. Obi-Wan is annoyed at him for _something_, but he doesn't know what. Peering up through his eyelashes, Anakin says the first thing that comes to his mind: "I'm sorry."

There is a pause, then the Force snarls.

"Stop it!" Obi-Wan snaps suddenly, and Anakin recoils as the Force lashes through the air like a cracking whip. "Just _stop apologising!_ I don't – I can't keep listening to this – I – I can't do this anymore, I can't _live_ like this. Every day you remind me, you don't give me the chance to just let go and move on! You keep saying you're sorry, but it isn't just for me anymore, is it? It's so you can appease yourself, because you enjoy the sense of gratification you get when I forgive you time and time again."

Each word is like a slap to the face, raw and stinging. "No –" Anakin tries to say, his voice strangled, _no, that's not right, Master, please –_

Obi-Wan twists a hand in his auburn hair tightly. "Somehow, just like everything else, you have managed to twist this situation to feed your narcissism," he spits. There is something feral in his stance, something foreign that's been put there, and Anakin cringes again when a wave of desperation and fear chokes the air. "Blast it, Anakin, when are you going to realise that this is not about your pathological need to be in the glare of publicity? I don't need your help, and I most certainly do _not_ need your meaningless apologies!"

* * *

Anakin still distinctly remembers the first time he realised, with horrifying reality, that not only was Obi-Wan not invulnerable, but he was actually human – Obi-Wan had been poisoned on a botched mission, and was lying gray-faced and covered in feverish sweat in the medical centre, coughing up blood. Anakin was fourteen. The frightening part of the whole ordeal was that he couldn't figure out which was more serious: the thought of actually losing Obi-Wan or realising Obi-Wan was human.

Anakin isn't quite sure why he's thinking about this, or what relevance it has. Maybe it's just a distraction.

As he waits in Palpatine's chambers, once again just _finding_ himself there with little memory of actually getting there, Anakin thinks dully and without relation that for a semi-handicapped person, Obi-Wan can sure run fast.

Like so many other times, the Chancellor's chambers have become his sanctuary, but at the same time, he feels trapped in his skin and cut off from air. Panicky. Like his true emotions are on some sort of timer and won't kick in until something triggers them, and until then he's trapped in that abyss of trembling confusion and surrealism.

"Anakin!" Palpatine exclaims loudly from behind him, and Anakin jumps, having not heard or sensed the Chancellor's presence. "How nice to see you again – you haven't been waiting long, have you? I didn't mean to keep you, but it was a gruelling session at the Senate, you understa- my dear boy, whatever is the matter? Sit down, you look ill."

He _feels _ill. He fears that if he opens his mouth he will vomit. Shaky and moody, Anakin lowers himself onto the chair offered by the Chancellor. "It's Master Obi-Wan," he manages to get out. He isn't sure how he should be feeling – confused, yes, and hurt – very hurt – but the anger hasn't seeped in yet and a little part of him thinks that maybe he should be worried about Obi-Wan, because Obi-Wan _never_ lashes out at him like that –

"What has he done?" Palpatine demands, eyes hardening.

The accusing tone in the Chancellor's voice sparks the dormant rage underneath the confusion and hurt. Anakin sits up sharply, his eyes flaring. "He – he's angry at me!" Anakin cries. "He yelled at me, just now!"

"What?" the Chancellor snaps, outraged. "What did he say?"

"He accused me of twisting the situation to be all about me instead of him, and then he threw everything I've offered him back into my face! He told me he didn't want my help or my apologies –" Anakin breaks off with a choke and tries to sink into the chair, as if hoping to be swallowed so he won't have to deal with this, feeling the burn of Obi-Wan's harsh words all over again. _Why does he hate me now, after everything?_ Palpatine sits beside him and gazes at him with sympathetic eyes, as if he's heard the words Anakin doesn't have the courage to speack because it might make them true.

"Oh, Anakin, my dear boy…my poor, dear boy," he murmurs, shaking his head. Palpatine obviously wants to say something but is holding off. Anakin doesn't like it when people do this.

"What?" he demands. "What is it?"

Palpatine hesitates.

"Tell me!"

"I didn't want to say this before, my boy. I had hoped Master Kenobi would be able to move past such petty feelings, but it appears even the best of men are prone to disgusting acts of hypocrisy…" The Chancellor sounds like he has a very bad taste in his mouth. "Stressful situations often bring out the worst in people, and their true nature. I've seen it before. Jealousy, too, often plays into this. I'm sorry you had to suffer his undue accusations, Anakin. They were completely uncalled for and frankly I'm appalled someone could be so unappreciative of the aid you've given and time you've sacrificed for him. I can't being to imagine how you must be feeling with his betrayal of your trust and faith in him."

This righteous speech brings that distrust and betrayal back twice as powerfully as the first time in this office, so many months ago, that make him feel simultaneously horrified and rightly angry at Obi-Wan. "How can he do this to me? After everything I've done, after – all I wanted to do was _help_ him! Has he ever appreciated anything I've done, or was he just…" Anakin trails off, unable to finish.

"Indulging you?" the Chancellor completes, and confirming Anakin's fears. "I dare not answer that for you, my boy, but…"

"You think he was."

"It doesn't matter what _I_ think. I can't tell you what you should believe. What do you think?"

Anakin stays silent, and tears of painful fury burn the backs of his eyes.

"Anakin, I am so very sorry," Palpatine says soothingly.

"Sorry for _what?_" he snarls, suddenly furious. "For telling me that Obi-Wan hates me?"

Palpatine doesn't recoil or cringe at Anakin's tone and words, but rather reaches out and grasps Anakin's shoulder with a warm, comforting hand. Tears glisten in the old man's eyes, a reflection of the tears Anakin can't shed. "For telling you the _truth_."

The truth. The truth that, despite everything, Obi-Wan is a liar like the rest of the Order, the truth that was obscured by the daze of Dantooine and the façade of Obi-Wan's affection and love –

– _despite the Code, against everything I know, I love you too. I always have, Anakin, and nothing can ever change that…_

It is like a douse of cold water has been poured over his body, jolting him out of that blinding fury. Dantooine. The rage is beset by confusion and Anakin nearly gasps under the weight of change.

_He lied!_

No. No, it's just like before, too much like before, and he doesn't want to feel that way and think that way, believe this despite all evidence to the contrary, not again, not again –

"I have to go," he whispers. Palpatine is saying something but the old man's voice is drowned out by a roaring in his ears. A few words manage to filter through.

"…I am honoured you trust me enough to share your thoughts with me when you cannot turn to those who have raised you or claim to care for you. My door is always open to you. You may return at any time – any hour. I will always be here for you, especially when…others refuse to be."

Anakin jerks his head in a mockery of a nod.

"Is there anything else you wish to talk about? Anything at all, Anakin."

He must have been dismissed after this, or he left on his own, because he suddenly finds himself fleeing through the labyrinthine Senatorial building corridors like a child, not sure where he is going but just knowing with certainty that he has to get out of there now. _Jealous of your power, of your skills_, a voice hisses in his mind, following him no matter how much distance he puts between himself and those red chambers, and Anakin staggers and leans his weight on a wall.

_No, no, I don't want to believe that again, I don't want that to be true –_

_He's jealous! Jealous of your ability to walk and fight, ungrateful for your help, resentful of your power! He's been lying to you all along – you ignorant, gullible fool, of _course_ he hates you, he doesn't love you. How could anyone love _you_ after what you did? He just said that so you wouldn't hurt him, you could have, you know, you could have choked him to death or hit him, he doesn't deserve –_

"No," he moans, pressing his hands to his forehead. "No, please –"

_You don't need him – he doesn't deserve you! You're better than him, you've always been better than him and better without him, he's a vicious liar who manipulated you into staying with him because the Order needs its Chosen One, he doesn't love you –_

"NO!"

Pain explodes in his right fist and he slides down the wall, cradling the hand which collided with the duracrete. Blood seeps through the open gashes and the pain is almost numbing, a distraction from the voice, so he slams his hand back against the wall to invoke another wave of physical agony. He hasn't broken anything; his hand is just grazed and bruised. He wishes he _did_ break something, just for more physical pain to drown out this torture eating away at his mind like a poison.

_Don't think, don't think, don't think –_

If he doesn't let himself think, he won't have to hear that voice, and he won't have to believe this all again, not again, _please no_. He scrambles to his feet.

_Don't think, just don't think, get out of here, get out get out get out –_

He's running. He doesn't know where to, just going to wherever the Force directs him. And he runs, and runs, and runs, he's slammed into someone and they're shouting after him angrily but he doesn't care, doesn't hear, his mantra slamming in time with his thundering heart _don't think don't think don't think_ –

Padmé.

Padmé will help him.

* * *

_I have _got _to stop doing this_, he thinks as he is ushered in by C-3PO after finding himself at Padmé's apartment with little to no memory in between smashing his hand against a wall and getting here.

"Anakin! What –?"

Whatever control he had disappears. Through panicked gasps he manages to get out, "It's Obi-Wan, he – I don't – the Chancellor said – I'm –"

Padmé descends onto the couch beside him and grasps his hands carefully. "Shh, shh, you're not making any sense. What happened to Obi-Wan?"

"He's angry at me and I don't know why! I mean, I _do_ know why but I don't understand, and I went to see the Chancellor but all he told me was that Obi-Wan is jealous and he's not and every time I visit the Chancellor he tells me something he makes me believe him and I don't know what to think – "

"Anakin! Take a deep breath and tell me what happened. From the beginning."

Anakin throws himself back into the couch and shifts uncomfortably when he feels something dig into his ass. Irritably he digs around his back pocket and pulls out that Force-forsaken commlink and throws it onto the table with a loud clatter. Taking a couple of shaky breaths, he says, "Obi-Wan got really mad with me today."

"Why?"

The anger from the Chancellor's chamber boils up again. "I think it's his leg. I'm doing something wrong. All I want to do is help him! Why can't he understand that? It's my fault anyway –"

"What did he say?" she interrupts.

"He told me to stop apologising and – and he said that I wasn't even apologising because I was sorry anymore, and that I turned everything around to fit me instead of him or something like that – he always uses bigger words – and then he stormed out and I don't know what to do!"

He isn't going to get any more coherent than this and he wishes that he had that infuriating ability Obi-Wan possesses to be calm, for once in his life just to not explode in a mindless rage with no control because he hates not having control –

"Okay," Padmé says evenly. "And what happened with the Chancellor?"

"You know I'm close to him. I went to him to ask his advice, just now, but he…he tells me things. I don't think it's on purpose, but I don't like it. Not anymore." Did he ever? "I told him what Obi-Wan said and he said that Master is jealous of me and perhaps really _does_ hate me and all this other stuff but I know he doesn't, not after Dantooine." The words are tumbling out of him and he sounds so childish, so lost and pathetic and _young_, even to himself, "And the scary part is, I nearly believed him. I nearly starting believing again that Obi-Wan hates me but I can't, I won't, because – because –" He breaks off, his lips parted slightly.

"Because?"

"Because he told me. Obi-Wan told me that he loves me. On Dantooine."

…_despite the Code, against everything I know, I love you too. I always have, Anakin, and nothing can ever change that…_

The tears and warmth of the emotional confession fill him ever so briefly, but Palpatine's words are still at the front of his mind and he can't concentrate on the memory, can't grasp hold of it to let it save him. "The Chancellor –"

"Is wrong!" Padmé snaps, eyes blazing.

_The Chancellor is wrong._ A few months ago, Anakin would have scoffed at such a bold accusation, but…_the Chancellor is wrong. The Chancellor is wrong_.

Was he ever right?

"Oh, Anakin, if only you knew just how much Obi-Wan cares for you."

"I do know! But he – I thought - I was only trying to help him, why…?" _Why does he hate me now, after everything? _The bitterness, the anger, is seeping back against his will, the same cold thoughts that infiltrated his mind in the Chancellor's chambers.

"Anakin," Padmé says firmly, "imagine for a moment your positions were reversed. How would you feel if…if you were the one injured, and every time you went somewhere, Obi-Wan followed you around with his arms wide open to catch you, and he said sorry every second of the day?" Anakin blinks. "Imagine how you'd feel, thinking that the person you trust most in the galaxy sees you as nothing more than a handicapped person in need of constant aid."

Anakin stays silent. How _would_ he feel? He'd just…never thought about it before. Perhaps Obi-Wan thought it was another one of his powerplays, like those chilling minutes in hyperspace returning from Geonosis where Anakin took complete advantage of Obi-Wan's injuries and dressed him, knowing full well Obi-Wan could do nothing to retaliate or save his dignity…

"You'd get paranoid, eventually hysterical…" she continues. "You know Obi-Wan is; he would never tell anyone that he wasn't feeling all right." She's right – Obi-Wan would never confess to something like that until he was bleeding out of both his eyes, ribs crushed and both legs broken. And even then he'd probably insist he was all right. "He never admits to any sort of weakness –"

"– Physical or mental, until it's almost too late. He's too proud, like me," Anakin eventually mumbles. The anger retreats back into the dark recesses of his mind, tightly shielded, and he groans and buries his face in his hands. Of course – Obi-Wan's only flaw. His pride. Obi-Wan would take no more kindly to having a nursemaid than Anakin would. "I'd probably end up hating him. Why can't I do anything right?"

Padmé's hands are on his shoulders now, gentle and soothing, and Anakin is acutely aware of the proximity between them. "You didn't do anything _wrong_. It was wrong of Obi-Wan to lash out at you like that, but understandable. You were just trying to help, and I'm sure he'll see that soon. He's probably beating himself up over what he said."

Somewhere between the 'wrong' and 'said', Anakin has stopped listening and is instead allowing himself to be distracted by Padmé's soft lips, sweet and red and oh so tempting. He wants to…

"Anakin?" he hears his angel murmur.

"Hmm," he acknowledges absently.

"Geonosis –"

Duty speech. The flash of irritation is fleeting. "I know."

He loves her, and he knows what the Republic means to her, but he needs this and she's moving closer as well and he starts to suspect that maybe she needs this too. The kiss is passionate but not brutal; desperate but not violent. Her lips are as soft and sweet as they were on Naboo but there is nothing gentle about this – nothing careful, nothing tender. This is fuelled by desperation and repressed anger; his at Obi-Wan and at himself and at Palpatine, and Padmé's at the Senate.

They shouldn't be doing this. Anakin is not used to thinking of himself as a weak man, but just for this once, it feels nice to lose control on his own terms.

* * *

Anakin is having a strange dream. Somehow he gets the feeling that Padmé is mad at him, but this doesn't make sense because they just had _incredible_ sex and no-one can be mad after _that_. Then he can sort of see/feel through the Force that she has gathered his clothes and thrown them out of the bedroom window, and maybe he should get up soon because this is a very weird dream, especially after vaguely hearing a shouting voice from a distant place, something about a _very important_ whatever and it sounds suspiciously like a certain evil Council Member who is intent on putting him on lightsaber cleaning duty under his direct supervision until he's forty and THIS IS IMPORTANT…or something…

_Well_, he thinks dazedly when he hears the door being thrown open a moment later, or maybe an hour later, _there's no point in getting up now that my clothes are gone._

…Hang on.

His clothes are gone.

_Padmé threw them out the window._

_SHE THREW MY KRIFFING CLOTHES OUT THE WINDOW WHY WOULD SHE DO THAT._

He forces his eyes open and sits up, blinking the sleep away from his vision, and is met by a very peculiar and unwelcome sight. There is tense moment of dismayed silence, then Anakin screams bravely and rolls off the bed, bringing the sheets down with him.

Above him, Mace Windu glares down, unimpressed.

Anakin tries to grin sheepishly, but it feels more like a grimace. "Uh," he offers stupidly, and falters before he can even give an explanation. What is he supposed to say? 'I can explain'? 'I'm really sorry I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing here or how I got here but could I maybe please have some clothes 'kaythanksbye'?

Actually, the last one hadn't worked too well the last time he'd used it.

_Actually_, he thinks again, it certainly won't work well _at all_ when the person he is currently staring up at, stark naked, is Windu. Which is strange, since he's pretty sure he went to bed with Padmé Amidala. Even stranger, since this is Padmé Amidala's _bed_. And Mace Windu is definitely not Padmé Amidala. Well, he sincerely hopes that's the case. Otherwise he's going to throw himself out of the window to follow his clothes to a quick and painless death on the lower levels of Coruscant, _right now_.

"So," Windu says. "_So_."

Anakin is tempted to reply, _So what?_ but gets the feeling that this won't go down well. So he stays silent, and Windu keeps glaring.

"I do not approve of this relationship of yours with the Senator," Windu finally says in that tone that is capable of making Younglings burst into tears. Anakin wisely doesn't inform Windu that his approval or disapproval means very little to him regarding Padmé, but he does subtly eye the clothes being held hostage under Windu's arm. Obviously not subtly enough, since Windu tightens his hold on them.

"We're not in a…relationship," Anakin explains instead of asking if those clothes are for him. In a way, he supposes with barely suppressed disappointment, he _isn't_ in a relationship with Padmé, at least not _that_ kind. It was just…sex. Not a consummation of their love for each other, or a promise of devotion, or anything that heartfelt. Sex. Nothing else.

"Make sure it _stays_ that way. Or do I have to force you to swear a vow of chastity?"

Anakin is certain that, for a bare moment, his heart stops. "_No!_"

"Then keep it in your Force-damned pants, Skywalker! Don't think I don't know about your past indiscretions. While you were busy defiling Senator Amidala's bed just now, I was trying to contact you. It's about Obi-Wan. He didn't turn up for his sparring session and I'm concerned. I don't suppose it would be worth asking you if you've seen him lately."

Like on Geonosis, it is disconcerting to see Mace Windu being concerned. "I can't say I've seen anything much else in the past hour except for Senator Amidala's sheets, Master Windu," Anakin deadpans, and Windu's left eye twitches a bit.

"Skywalker!"

"I don't know where he is! He yelled at me and ran off earlier –"

"All right, that's it. You're going to tell me right now, Skywalker – _what is going on?_ I thought your sabbatical was supposed to sort out your issues!"

"It's not _my_ issues. It's about his injuries and about the way I'm acting. It's not me you have to be worried about. It's Master Obi-Wan."

"Trust me, I was never worried about you." Anakin shoots him a dirty glare which Windu reciprocates. "Finally realised that the galaxy doesn't revolve around you, huh?"

_It's not about you._

_When are you going to realise that this is not about your pathological need to be in the glare of publicity?_

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Anakin wonders out loud.

"Because it's true."

"Hey!"

"_What's wrong with him?_"

"He's paranoid and hysterical."

"What did you do?" Windu immediately accuses.

"I didn't do anything!" At Windu's raised eyebrow, Anakin deflates a little. "Okay, so I may have done _something…_" Eyebrow number two rises. "…but it wasn't my fault. At least not intentionally. All I wanted to do was help him, with his leg and everything, and he never said a thing so I didn't realise that I was making him feel like I thought he couldn't do anything. And he got mad and shouted at me and left."

"Very eloquent, Skywalker," Windu snarks, then he sighs heavily, and Anakin thinks (with absolutely no satisfaction whatsoever) that he looks very old. "Get back to the Temple, you're needed there. And try and find Obi-Wan before he does something stupid."

"Obi-Wan doesn't do stupid things."

"I used to think that as well until he let you burn down your own and four surrounding apartments trying to make _tea_."

"He didn't _let_ me, and besides, that was _years_ ago –" Anakin defends himself, but Windu is already storming out, the bundle of clothes still held hostage under his arm.

"And do something about that hair!" Windu snaps over his shoulder and the door slams shut behind him, and Anakin is left sitting on Padmé's bed with a silk sheet wrapped around his waist and one hand in his hair feeling self-conscious and just a little bit like an idiot.

"Can I at least have the clothes?" Anakin calls out weakly. There is no reply, and for a moment he considers that Mace Windu is _the _Sith Lord in disguise since he's actually _evil_, making Anakin walk back to the Temple wearing the sheet. The door opens again a moment later and Windu's arm reappears around it and unceremoniously dumps a light tunic and a robe to the floor.

Anakin waits until he is sure Windu is gone before shuffling over with the silk sheets still wrapped around his waist towards the pile of clothes. Picking up the tunic, Anakin wrinkles his nose in distaste. Of _course_ Windu would pick out the most hideous, rough tunic and robe in the Temple to give to him. Probably his idea of revenge or a joke, the bastard…

Okay, to be fair, it isn't _ugly_, since it's the exact same kind of tunic Obi-Wan wears, and Anakin has always thought Obi-Wan looks rather good in that colour and cut. Anakin has always preferred the blacks and dark browns and leather slacks, because they make him look rather dashing.

Scoffing as he looks in the mirror, he thinks the Obi-Wan lookalike robes aren't even remotely attractive on him. They just make him look like…a less sexy version of himself. Sure, they look good on _Obi-Wan_, but that's _Obi-Wan_, and he's attractive in a sophisticated-distinguished-chaste-Jedi sort of way, not in Anakin's I'm-mysterious-and-suave-and-dangerous-jump-me sort of way. So that doesn't count.

Still, there's something almost comforting in the way he's dressed like Obi-Wan. Throwing the brown robe on and clipping his lightsaber (which Padmé considerately didn't throw) to his utility belt, Anakin makes his way out. Padmé is waiting for him in the living area and she silently hands him a cup of hot tea, which he gratefully accepts. Any other time, he would be mad at Padmé for tossing his extremely sexy robes out of the window, but seriously, how could _anyone_ be mad at her after mind-blowing sex like that? Also, he's too worn out to gather the strength to force out that kind of emotion.

But, yes. He's just slept with the woman he had been in love with for eleven years, and now they are silently sipping tea. Is this it? Was _that_ it? That meaningless culmination of desperation and lingering attraction, that purging of emotion – how could that possibly represent how he felt about her?

With a slight stomach churn, Anakin realises he's just thought about that in past tense. _Had_ been in love with, how he _felt_ about her – doesn't he still feel that way? Isn't he still hopelessly in love with her, as intoxicated by her presence as he was at Naboo? Before today, he'd barely thought of her in the past few months aside from Obi-Wan's 'counselling sessions' on Dantooine. Every moment of his day was obsessed with thoughts of Obi-Wan and the war. There hadn't been time for her, and she wasn't there to keep the flame burning…the loss of such a powerful emotion makes him feel a little empty inside.

Though, thinking of the 'counselling' sessions, he remembers something and puts his cup of tea down. "What's your favourite colour?" he asks, breaking the strangely comforting silence.

At her puzzled, almost concerned and 'oh-great-he's-finally-cracked', look, Anakin realises how completely random that sounded, so he clears his throat and tries again.

"It's just, I don't know. And I really should, since we're," _having sex_, "close friends and all."

"Blue," she eventually answers. "It's the colour of the lakes of Naboo – beautiful and deep, soft, soothing…it's relaxing, and so peaceful. It's how I wish the Senate would be sometimes. It's also the colour of your eyes," she admits with a guilty smile. Anakin smiles back. "Yours?"

"Um…" He's never actually thought about it. "I like blue. And green. And grey. I can't really decide between them." He absently twists his Padawan braid around his fingers. "They remind me of storms. I like it when it rains." He glances at the chrono on the wall and starts a bit. "I have to go," he tells her. She nods in acceptance, still frowning a little, and Anakin presses a kiss to her lips, enjoying the intimacy, then whispers "thank you" into her hair. There is no way it can convey just how much he appreciates having her in his life, to save him from drowning when Obi-Wan can't, but for now it is all he can give this beautiful angel who has stayed strong enough for him. One day, he promises himself, he'll find a way to thank her properly.

* * *

It is half an hour later and he can't find Obi-Wan.

He has looked every place Obi-Wan would typically go; Temple Gardens, meditation room, a training salle, and still _nothing_. The frustration must beginning to show: two Initiates scamper out of his way as he storms down the corridors, possibly because he looks menacing. _Okay_, Anakin tries to rationalise,_ if I were an emotionally unstable Obi-Wan Kenobi, where would I go?_

His mind comes up with nothing, probably because the thought of an emotionally unstable Obi-Wan Kenobi is so ridiculous that even his subconscious thinks it isn't worth pursuing. He desperately tries to reach his Master through their bond, but is only met by shields: Obi-Wan has completely sealed himself off from Anakin, either because he doesn't want anything to do with Anakin, or because he doesn't want to be found.

Anakin tells himself it is the second option, but shields or no shields, he _will_ find Obi-Wan.

"You there," Anakin orders, trapping a terrified and scurrying Initiate under his glare. "Have you seen Master Kenobi around?"

The child nods his head shakily. "Y-yes, sir. He's in the Room of a Thousand Fountains," he replies, then quickly flees down the hallway to join his giggling classmates.

Anakin nearly slaps himself. _Well, DUH_, his mind drawls. _Why didn't you think of that?_

The day is dragging and most of the remaining Jedi who are not at war are in the dining hall, so when he reaches the Room of a Thousand Fountains he is mildly surprised to see it empty. Almost empty, he rectifies, when he spots Obi-Wan at a far end, kneeling before a fountain in a meditative posture. Anakin approaches him slowly, letting his Force signature expand towards Obi-Wan so that he can feel Anakin's presence and not be startled, but before he can get too close Obi-Wan stands up and faces him, halting Anakin in his tracks with a hard look. "Come here to tell me I shouldn't be walking on my own, have you, Anakin?" Obi-Wan says bitterly.

When was the last time Obi-Wan called him 'apprentice', or 'Padawan', or sounded affectionate? Anakin swallows the bubble of hurt in his throat. "No."

"Then what? Perhaps you're going to carry me back to our quarters, since you seem to think I can't walk on my own."

Irrational paranoid hysteria, that's what this is, and Anakin is all too familiar with it. How in the galaxy did Obi-Wan deal with Anakin when he was like this? Meditation, soul-searching discussion, which was all good and well. Very Jedi-like methods. Anakin screws up his nose.

Palpatine has been wrong about a lot of things lately, but there is one thing that Anakin still believes: the Jedi way isn't necessarily the right way, or the realistic way. If Anakin were the ideal Jedi, he'd attempt to calm Obi-Wan down and meditate with him. Realistically, there's no way this will ever happen, because Anakin isn't an ideal Jedi and despises meditation. Besides, Obi-Wan is looking a bit angry at the moment, and meditation doesn't solve everything. He's obviously been trying but his emotions vibrate loudly through the Force; he's too confused, too stressed, to think clearly and release his emotions like he usually would, but he still needs to get them out somehow – with or without meditation.

When Anakin was younger, he used to try and see how far he could push Obi-Wan and make him get angry, or at least annoyed – anything to make that perfect serene display waver, just a little. No-one could be _that_ perfect, he'd thought. And he was right. Obi-Wan has tried, so hard, to be perfect, hiding his imperfections so effectively that very few ever witnessed or became aware of his fears and moments of self-doubt. He tried so hard to hide them from Anakin in order to be the best Master he could at such a young age with such a responsibility, but Anakin sees right through that now. He wonders if Qui-Gon ever saw them at all, if he tried to encourage Obi-Wan to simply be what the Force made him: human.

Even if he had, Anakin thinks, it's unlikely Obi-Wan put this advice into use, and strove for perfection regardless.

Obi-Wan _isn't_ perfect. "You think you're not handicapped?" Anakin says loudly. "All right, fine. Prove it."

His provocation makes Obi-Wan's eyes flash.

"_Prove it!_" Anakin snaps, and this time Obi-Wan moves so quickly that Anakin only just manages to ignite his lightsaber and block the first hammering blow of Obi-Wan's azure blade.

Anakin's mind screams as their lightsabers clash together in violent combat. Wasn't this the point? To _make_ Obi-Wan snap? _Not like this! I thought he was just gonna yell at me, not kriffing pull his lightsaber out on me!_

Anakin has always suspected that there is something more, something deeper, in Obi-Wan Kenobi – something almost dark and painful lurking behind that frustrating façade of perfection, but part of him thinks that this is all wrong, completely wrong, that Obi-Wan Kenobi is _never_ on the offensive, and never so brutal, so _angry_.

So like _Anakin_.

It's frightening.

Random hits and strikes, fuelled by anger and frustration, leave Anakin trying to establish a rhythm in their fight while overcoming this stunned _surprise_ at just having his usually calm and collected Master lunge at him with a lightsaber on _full bloody strength_. The only advantage he has is the fact that he's always been a better fighter, and that Obi-Wan is being hindered ever so slightly by his injury. Too much weight is on his left leg. Anakin strikes a slow blow to his less protected side and Obi-Wan staggers and draws back.

Then there is a shift in Obi-Wan's attack. The strikes are no longer uncoordinated or random, but following a pattern of what Anakin recognises as his seldom-used Ataru form; not nearly as well developed as his Soresu, but still aggressive as he attempts to compensate for his disability. Though strangely, he isn't striking to injure or maim, not anymore; his attack follows a rehearsed structure. Then Anakin realises: Obi-Wan isn't attacking Anakin out of anger, or because he wants to hurt him. He's fighting to prove to himself that he isn't handicapped, that he _can_ fight and will not be an invalid for the rest of his life – that he _can_ be that Master of Soresu he so longs to be, and that he isn't as useless as Anakin inadvertently made him believe he was.

Anakin defends himself easily now; they have silently moved from an actual fight into a sparring session fuelled by desperation and endurace as Obi-Wan searches for the standard he used to have, but Anakin doesn't know how long Obi-Wan's determination will last. A harsh blow to the left, stab to the right, and Obi-Wan is staggering a little, favouring his right leg, and sweat glistens on his forehead. The exhilaration of the fight is wearing them both down; the exertion reminds Anakin just how long it has been since he's practiced.

Obi-Wan grunts when one of Anakin's blows land heavily, forcing him to switch to defence, and he backs away again, trying to grasp the Force and help him centre himself. Anakin seizes the pause in their battle; if Obi-Wan keeps fighting, he will collapse, and the confidence he has just managed to rebuild in these few short minutes will be crushed. "Enough," Anakin says, and steps away to powerdown his lightsaber. Obi-Wan doesn't move. "Enough. You've done it. You _can_ do it," he adds, this time sending out a ripple of Force persuasion along their bond. Obi-Wan is not weak-minded and it won't work, but it might convince him that their bond is still there and as powerful as it had become over the recent months. _Please listen. Please believe me._

Obi-Wan stares at him for a long second, then puts the blade away and drops the lightsaber to the ground with a clatter.

"You did it," Anakin breathes again, his hands on Obi-Wan's shaking shoulders which are damp with sweat.

Something like painful relief smothers Obi-Wan's half-sob. "I'm…I can…"

Anakin nods.

"I'm so – I'm sorry," Obi-Wan whispers through heavy gasps, and his eyes begin to clear. "I'm…no matter how hard I try, my largest flaws still manage to shatter me. Hubris." He gasps with mocking laughter and lets his head fall hard onto Anakin's shoulder, and Anakin wraps his arms around his trembling Master. "Pride. Arrogance. Right now…I'm…I'm as human as I've ever been. I'm so sorry, Anakin. You should never have seen me like this, nor on Dantooine. I shouldn't have said what I did. I should not have lost myself. I –"

"It's okay, Master. I…I know."

He does know. In his mind's eye he sees himself and Obi-Wan in a different time and in a different situation, only months ago, after his mother's death and Geonosis, Obi-Wan half-hidden in the shadows as Anakin raged at him, determined to hurt him as much as possible with cutting words about Qui-Gon and his mother and the anger which warped into hatred, unable to control himself and feeling better and worse with every emotion he released. He does know. Because it was not that long ago that their positions were reversed, only then Obi-Wan had been right there waiting to pull Anakin up when he fell. And Anakin…nearly wasn't here for Obi-Wan when he needs him the most.

He does know. Because Obi-Wan is only human, and somehow both of them had forgotten it until now.

"Forgive me," Obi-Wan whispers into Anakin's shoulder – and Anakin realises with shocked certainty that Obi-Wan has just completely given himself over, and is at his total mercy. He shouldn't be pleased that he finally has the position of advantage over his Master, but he is, even as he buries it and shakes his head firmly.

"No. There's nothing to forgive. I didn't mean to belittle you. I should have known…I just thought…I just wanted to…"

"You just wanted to help, and I…" Obi-Wan breaks off with a choke. "Oh, Anakin. I do appreciate everything you've done for me, so much, but…"

"I know. It's okay. C'mon, let's get back to the apartment." A few moments are spent gazing at each other as if wondering what to do now. "I'm hungry," Anakin announces, only to be struck a second later with the thought that considering the circumstances, this might not be entirely appropriate.

Obi-Wan only looks at him in exasperation. "You're always hungry, Anakin," he says wearily, but a smile is there, and Anakin knows that they'll be okay.

* * *

The last time Anakin stayed with Obi-Wan the whole night, bar hyperspace en route from Geonosis, was when he was sixteen, and he'd just had a particularly vivid nightmare about the Temple being burned to the groud. Obi-Wan said nothing when he felt Anakin standing next to his bed, only sighed and lifted his covers so that Anakin could slip in beside him and keep the terrors at bay with the knowledge that no matter what happened, Obi-Wan was still there.

At twenty, nearly twenty-one, Anakin begins to suspect that maybe he's getting a bit too old for this, but then this is really just as much for Obi-Wan as it is for Anakin. Neither could be bothered to get out of their clothes, content to simply crash on the bed and let exhaustion overcome them.

"I forgot to say," Obi-Wan murmurs later, half-asleep, "you're wearing different clothes."

Anakin glances down in surprise. He'd forgotten about them. "These aren't permanent," he says quickly. As soon as he finds ones just like his old (and incredibly sexy) ones, he's getting rid of these sin ce they look terrible on him anyway –

"Shame. You look good in them."

Anakin blinks. Obi-Wan must be _really_ out of it if he actually just said what Anakin thinks he just said.

"What happened to your usual ones?"

"Padmé threw them out a window."

At this, Obi-Wan opens his eyes and looks at Anakin, bewildered. "Why?"

Anakin contemplates. "I think she had a bad day at the Senate."


	20. INTERLUDES II

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– INTERLUDES II –

It is a little known fact that Anakin Skywalker drools in his sleep.

A _lot_.

Obi-Wan is acutely reminded of this when he wakes up the next morning with an Anakin-octopus wrapped around him and his left shoulder drenched in saliva. "Urgh," he grumbles, and tries to push Anakin off him. A familiar floral scent reaches his nostrils; there is no need to spend time puzzling over why, as it places itself immediately, and Obi-Wan flinches at the unexpected stab of hurt in his chest. He tries to push Anakin off him again, without waking him up, but Anakin rouses himself and shifts as the haze of dawn disturbs him.

Anakin looks rather cute in the morning, not that Obi-Wan would ever say it out loud or admit it to himself, but there is something irresistably adorable in the way Anakin's smoky eyelashes flutter and the way his hair is always frustratingly _perfect_ when he wakes up. A massive contrast to Obi-Wan, whose hair looks like it has been attacked by a Gundark no matter what he does with it the night before.

"G'mornin'," Anakin mumbles, his eyes still heavy with sleep.

"Good morning, Padawan," Obi-Wan answers, and Anakin yawns loudly and rolls onto his back, looking very contented. He doesn't want to bring up the perfume now, but if he doesn't then he never will and it will be yet another barrier between them which he certainly can't afford, not after his little _show_ yesterday. "Anakin…"

"Mmm."

"You smell like a certain Senator's perfume," Obi-Wan says, sounding far more casual than he feels, and his suspicions are confirmed when Anakin's face turns red. There is a brief, tense silence, and Obi-Wan feels his heart drop like a stone into his stomach. "Did you sleep with her?" he continues gently.

"Yes," his apprentice confesses, and something akin to dread and disappointment floods him.

"Anakin…" he says again.

"It's okay, Master. We just…I was upset and I think she was as well, and it just _happened_. It didn't…mean anything."

Amazingly, Obi-Wan finds himself believing Anakin, and is altogether far too relieved about this than he knows he should be. Though somehow, he's all right with this personal knowledge, and doesn't admonish himself as he would have done so in the past. Because he's human, and somehow he's all right with this knowledge as well.

He gets the feeling that Qui-Gon would have been pleased. _Well, Master, you always did tell me to simply be what the Force made me. It only took me thirty-six years._

And this, he realises with a serenity he hasn't felt since Dantooine as Anakin finally rolls out of his bed with a groan and cracks his back, is the calm after the storm.

* * *

Managing to escape to his bedroom to tidy himself up, Anakin once more finds himself in front of a mirror assessing his new tunic and robes.

_You look good in them._

A light flush colours Anakin's cheeks and he looks down again at the beige tunic, nervously smoothing out a crease. Well, it's not _that_ ugly, he reasons. And even if anyone else thinks it is, at least Obi-Wan likes them, or he did last night. So with a bit of a huff, Anakin leaves his bedroom and nervously smooths a sweaty palm down the loose sleeve of his tunic and stands behind Obi-Wan who is making tea. When Obi-Wan turns around, cup in hand, his eyebrows rise. "You're still wearing the new tunic," he says, sounding pleasantly surprised.

Anakin hides an embarrassed smile. "Yeah. I…yeah." Well, he's not about to _tell_ Obi-Wan that the only reason he's still wearing them is because of last night.

Obi-Wan smiles and sets down the steaming cup and moves closer to adjust the neckline of this unfamiliar tunic. His hands are far steadier than Anakin has seen them in a long time and he fights the urge to grasp his Master's hand in his when fingertips brush tantalisingly against the bare skin of his neck. "I prefer you in these," Obi-Wan says softly.

"They're itchy."

Obi-Wan chuckles and his hands fall away. "You'll get used to them. If you plan on keeping them, that is."

Is he imagining things, or did Obi-Wan really just sound hopeful? "I think…I think I will," he says slowly, and it makes him insanely happy to see Obi-Wan smiling to himself for the rest of the day.

* * *

"You were right, Anakin," Obi-Wan says over lunch.

"Huh?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Padawan, it's very uncivilised."

Anakin swallows with difficulty. "Sorry, Master. What was I right about?"

"Padmé did have a bad day at the Senate. Here, look at this."

Obi-Wan pushes forward a holorecording, and Anakin watches Padmé's figure rant to an audience he can't see.

"_Is this war not called the _Clone Wars?_ Does that not imply, in the slightest, that _we_ are contributing to the aggression, that the formation of the Army of the Republic was the equivalent of a declaration of war on the Separatists? Every blow we suffer we return in higher proportions. What makes our tactics more acceptable than the Separatists' tactics – what makes us nobler in this war than them if all we are doing is slaughtering them as fast as they can slaughter us? We must emerge from this conflict as a democracy!"_

She looks beautiful, regal – like the Queen she once was and the Senator of her people she is now – but whatever appreciation Anakin has for her is steadily being overtaken by Obi-Wan's.

"Incredible. Absolutely incredible," Obi-Wan breathes, his blue-green eyes shining with admiration. Anakin scowls. Obi-Wan is acting like some love-struck teenager, gazing at Padmé's holorecording with that faraway expression, and it's beginning to annoy him.

"Master, come on. I want to spar." Politics are boring, anyway.

"Just a moment, Anakin," Obi-Wan says distractedly and rewinds the holorecording to the precise moment Padmé spits out, _"What Republic?"_

A moment passes. "Master?"

"_What Republic?"_

Doesn't Obi-Wan hate politics? Why is he watching this? "Master."

"_What Republic?"_

He never looks at _Anakin_ like that. "Master!"

Obi-Wan sighs and shuts off Padmé's speech. "Sorry, Anakin. But you have to admit, what she did was utterly remarkable. She will likely go down in history for this."

Anakin sniffs at the sheer tone of awe in Obi-Wan's voice. "Yeah, sure." _Since you're so keen on her, why don't you just whip out your dick right now and get yourself off?_

Thankfully his shields are up, and Obi-Wan doesn't hear this otherwise there would have been a very stern talk. Despite this, he realises very quickly on their way to the training salles that something is a bit off: for the first time in his life, he can't figure out whether he is jealous of Obi-Wan or jealous of Padmé.

* * *

Naturally, Yoda and Mace want to have A Talk with both Obi-Wan and Anakin, no doubt due to Obi-Wan's escapade yesterday.

"Fear, anger, frustration…even Jedi feel these," the wizened Grandmaster consoles in his meditation chamber, the daylight filtering through the semi-closed shutters and illuminating his eyes. "Sentient beings, we still are. Emotionless droids we are not. Shame from your feelings, you should not take. The ability to put them aside, release them or work through them, is important. Failed, Knight Kenobi? Failed, Padawan Skywalker? No. Failed you have not. Stayed true to the Code and your training, you have, by putting aside your issues. Dealt with and controlled them you have. Helped each other overcome them, you have."

Obi-Wan breathes easily again, finding relief and salvation in Yoda's words and his own actions, and catches Anakin's gaze on the periphery of his vision. Obi-Wan lets the corner of his mouth twitch upwards in a smile.

"But your attachment to each other, you must still work through," Yoda suddenly says sternly, poking Obi-Wan's left shoulder sharply with his gimmer stick.

Obi-Wan winces and rubs his shoulder, inadvertently remembering with startling clarity the moment Dooku thrust his lightsaber through the flesh and the searing, unbearable pain that came with it. He feels Anakin shift beside him; his thoughts must have seeped through his defences.

"The last time you meditated; when was it?" Yoda interrogates.

Obi-Wan is silent for a long time, then chuckles without humour. "I don't remember," he confesses.

"Hmm."

_Thwack!_

"Ouch!" Obi-Wan yelps, pressing a hand to the side of his head where Yoda's gimmer stick collided with it.

"Deserved that, you did."

Anakin snickers into his hand, but quickly sobers up when Obi-Wan turns to pin him with a glare. Mace stifles a sigh, and after that Obi-Wan can't seem to remember much else. He assumes he must have repressed the memory, as he is stuck with a Bad Feeling for the rest of the day that for some reason, his celibacy vow is going to be the joke of the week.

Unfortunately, ever since Yoda discovered Obi-Wan hadn't meditated since returning from Dantooine, compulsory meditations are set up for both him and Anakin. He feels more like a Padawan on probation than a Jedi Knight half the time, more so with Mace than with Yoda. In a flash of foresight, Obi-Wan somehow just _knows_ that counselling sessions with Mace will consist mostly of meditation and head-slapping. Yoda's sessions are far more bearable, Obi-Wan decides, aside from the whole minor gimmer stick thing, as he gets the distinct feeling that perhaps the Korun Master is nearing the end of whatever patience he has with Anakin, especially since the losing-Anakin and hotwiring incident in the very next day.

* * *

Washing dishes is considered a rather horrid punishment.

Washing dishes while listening to Windu giving a history lecture is absolute _torture._

Getting caught hotwiring Windu's speeder, by Windu, was _so_ not worth this.

"…the Second Battle of Korriban was fought during the Great Hyperspace War between Sith Lord Naga Sadow and the forces of the Koros system under Empress Teta. Teta's forces were motivated by revenge for the harm done to their worlds in the Great Hyperspace War and overpowered the Sith…"

_So. Kriffing. Boring._ Anakin tunes out and lets the soapy water drip down from the plates.

"…however the Koros forces prevailed, and the Great Hyperspace War ended." There is a long pause, and Anakin lets his hopes creep up. "_Following_ –"

Anakin flinches and the fleeting optimism screams and flails horribly as it dies a painful death.

In an unusual flash of insight, Anakin realises why he hasn't been given the task of cleaning lightsabers. If he had a lightsaber in his hand, he would probably attempt to shove the blade through Windu's left eye.

"…approximately four thousand two hundred years ago, after Freedon Nad's death, the Jedi experienced what is now called the Third Great Schism. After a Jedi civil war on Coruscant, the gathering of Dark Jedi retreated to the Vultar System where…"

_Blah, blah, blah…_Anakin's eyelids start to droop.

"…discovered that the planets of the system were artificial, and the Dark Jedi could not control the huge machines and annihilated themselves and the en_tire system_, _SKYWALKER!_"

"I'm awake!" he yelps in reflex, eyes snapping open, and Windu glares at him suspiciously before turning away again to continue lecturing.

Anakin shudders.

* * *

"Good evening, Padawan."

"Die."

Obi-Wan blinks. "That…wasn't very polite, my young apprentice."

Anakin groans and collapses onto the couch beside his Master. "Polite my ass. He's trying to kill me. Fuck, I'm so fucking tired."

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow and looks back down at his reading. "Can't you say that without the profanities, Padawan?" he says wearily. "Makes me wonder what I taught you."

Says he who has never said a filthier word than 'blast' in Anakin's presence, and probably never has in his entire life as well. "You never swear, Master. Why is that?"

Obi-Wan answers without even looking up from his datapad. "I find it uncivilized. I am vastly conscientious of the terminology I employ."

Anakin blinks. "…Yeah. I noticed."

When Obi-Wan continues reading calmly from the datapad, expressionless, it takes Anakin a few moments to realise what is going on. "You're teasing me!"

"Yes," Obi-Wan says with a laugh, batting the pillow that Anakin tosses at him away easily, "I am."

* * *

In his completely unbiased, totally disinterested, utterly impartial opinion, on a scale of one to ten Obi-Wan Kenobi is a solid fifteen.

This is decided when Anakin, perched on the corner of Obi-Wan's bed, is the sole witness to Obi-Wan emerging from the 'fresher, a white terrycloth towel wrapped around his hips, rivulets of water still streaming down his bare chest and the faintest bit of steam rising from his skin. Jedi are not concerned with nudity, only modesty, so when Obi-Wan notices Anakin in his room he splutters indignantly a bit and searches for something to cover himself up with even though he isn't actually _nude_. Problem is, Anakin has bundled up the tunic and robe that was laid out on the bed neatly and is holding them under his arm.

"Anakin, what are you doing?"

Anakin hops off and walks foward to catch Obi-Wan's face gently with one hand, forcing him to meet his eyes. "What colour would you say your eyes are?"

"Green?" Obi-Wan says confusedly, and possibly a little uncomfortable with the proximity: Anakin is close enough to feel the heat from Obi-Wan's skin radiate outwards.

Anakin's grin widens. "Was that a statement or a question?"

Obi-Wan gets the reference and smiles back. "You're teasing me."

"Yes, I am. You're making it very easy."

"That of course may have something to do with the minor fact that I'm standing here in _only_ a towel and you are withholding my clothes."

"Hmm," Anakin hums contemplatively, ignoring Obi-Wan's annoyance and tilts his head to the side. "Green. Or blue. Or grey. Or maybe all of them at the same time." Like a storm.

A few seconds of silence pass.

"Um, Anakin?"

"Yes?" He can feel Obi-Wan's face heating up underneath his palm.

"Can I please put my clothes on?"

Anakin smirks and lets his hand fall. "Only if you tell me what your favourite colour is," he says, and holds Obi-Wan's clothes high above his head where he knows his Master will not be able to reach them without the Force. And Obi-Wan, being Obi-Wan, _never_ uses the Force for such a trivial matter. Sometimes it pays off to be a head taller than the rule-bound Master.

"Anakin!"

"What?"

"My clothes, please?"

"Your favourite colour first."

"You've lived with me for eleven years and you still don't know?"

"No."

"Why do you need to know?"

"I'm curious."

"Will you give me my clothes if I tell you?"

"Yes."

"All right. Blue," he decides, and takes a stab at his clothes. Anakin jerks them higher out of his reach, his heart thudding heavier than usual.

"Why blue?"

"I thought you said you'd give me my clothes if I told you!"

"I will. After you answer why."

"You're going to be the death of me. Uh, because it's the colour of my lightsaber."

Anakin can't help but feel a slight twinge of disappointment, but lowers Obi-Wan's clothes back down so that his Master can seize them. "You made that up."

Obi-Wan just smiles, tugs his apprentice's Padawan braid, and orders Anakin out of his room for a bit of privacy.

Later that night, just before he falls asleep – in his own cold bed – he realises why he was disappointed. He wanted Obi-Wan to say what Padmé said, because it's the colour of his eyes, and he can't figure out why he _wants_ that to be the reason.

Windu attacks Anakin's head with a pair of scissors and a barely concealed glee at the next chance he gets, and now Anakin is moping in the living room and running his hands through the shorter-than-usual Padawan haircut.

"It'll be all right, Anakin. Hair grows back," Obi-Wan consoles, and Anakin shoots him a nasty glare.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean _you_ had to get your hair cut!"

Obi-Wan looks mildly surprised and pushes aside a few auburn strands of his new haircut that have fallen into his eyes. "Why do I get the feeling that you're more upset about my hair than yours?"

Anakin sniffs. "Because this hair cut makes you look – well…" He trails off, and Obi-Wan sighs a little.

"You can say it, Anakin, I don't mind. Old."

Anakin hides a sceptical glare – of course Obi-Wan minds. "You're not old, Master."

"That's very kind of you, Padawan, but I'm certainly not young anymore."

"Thirty-six isn't old."

"Perhaps not, but with all the grey hairs you've given me over the years I feel well over fifty."

"Hey!"

"Protest all you want, my very young apprentice, but I have the evidence." Obi-Wan points to his temples. Anakin squints.

"I don't see anything."

"Stop being cheeky," Obi-Wan orders, but there is a faint smile on his face for the rest of the day until dinner.

Anakin has returns from a sparring session that same day to find Obi-Wan watching the latest HoloNet war broadcasts. His Master glances up fleetingly. "Go and get changed, you're sweaty," is the equivalent of a 'welcome back', and Anakin bristles in annoyance.

"I've told you before, Master –"

"– It is allegedly the scent of a man and I just don't appreciate it?" Obi-Wan sounds dismayed but his eyes are gleaming with amusement, so Anakin grins in response and sits down next to him, perhaps a little too close to him than absolutely necessary, but Obi-Wan doesn't seem to mind. Together they watch the newest updates of the war and the air thickens between them – the Battle of Cyphar, which thankfully looks to be a Republic victory. Anakin risks a glance at his Master's grim face and the hand clenched over the thigh that has been the root of much pain for the past four months. Anakin is struck with the urge to do _something_ for Obi-Wan, to comfort him somehow, but doesn't know what he can say, so he hesitantly reaches over to brush his fingertips over the back of Obi-Wan's hand.

Obi-Wan stiffens and Anakin thinks he is going to tear his hand away and admonish him for overstepping boundaries, but then he sighs and lets his hand fall open for Anakin to slip his into. "It's not that I _want_ to fight," Obi-Wan explains to the silence. "Far from it. I just feel like I should be out there, helping."

"You will. And I'll be there with you."

Obi-Wan faces Anakin. "I know," he says, and gives Anakin's hand a light squeeze.

* * *

Inviting Garen Muln inside for a chat while Anakin is out being punished by Mace was not one of Obi-Wan's better ideas, as he is swiftly discovering. He is fond of Garen, certainly, but Garen's idea of 'catching up' is in a very different direction to Obi-Wan's.

"Geeze, Obi, you're not even on the field. Chill out a bit," Garen says when Obi-Wan cross his arms over his chest. "When was the last time you slept with anyone?"

Obi-Wan stares at Garen for a long moment. "I am not discussing this with you," he decides, and turns away. Garen smiles knowingly.

"Ah, avoidance. I'm guessing a couple of months, with you being such a prude. You can tell me. Who was it? A girl?"

"Garen –"

"Or a guy?"

"Quite frankly it's none of your business."

"I know you like it both ways. Was it a guy? I bet it was –"

"She was not."

"Ah, a girl then. Was she good?"

"The act was rather pleasant, yes."

"When?"

"What does it matter?"

"You're acting like you've got a stick up your ass, which means it's been a while. I always tell you when _I_ have sex –"

"– To annoy me! You tell me regardless of whether or not I ask you – which I never do!"

"Irrelevant. How long ago? Weeks? Months? Dare I suggest a year? Wouldn't put it past you –"

"I was twenty-five and it was a week before Qui-Gon and I left to deal with the Naboo Crisis."

The stunned silence after this tells Obi-Wan only one thing: if he's going to blurt out things in annoyance, maybe he shouldn't be a negotiator anymore since he's doing a pretty pathetic job of keeping his private life _private_.

"…That's…"

"I can't believe I just told you that. Why did I tell you that? You'll remind me about this until my dying day and tell everyone in the Temple, I know you will."

"That's eleven years – eleven _years?_ Shit, Obi-Wan, are you trying to tell me that you haven't had sex for _eleven whole years?_"

Why, why, _why_ did he let that slip? "Oh, for the love of – yes, that's what I'm trying to tell you!" Obi-Wan half-snaps, but Garen is too morally outraged to care.

"What have you been _doing_ for that long? Don't tell me all you've done is wank off – _eleven years?_ No wonder you're so freaking uptight! You're killing yourself! Why haven't you had sex?"

"Because I had and still have a Padawan to look after all day and all night. There was neither the time nor necessity. And I swore a vow of celibacy," he stupidly adds.

Garen stares at him. "Obi-Wan. What's wrong with you? Why would you do something like that?"

"Garen, sometimes you can be such a – a –" Obi-Wan struggles with himself for a moment, trying to find a word that isn't rude. Garen saves him the trouble.

"An asshole? Yeah, I guess so. But you still wank, don't you?"

Obi-Wan glares at him sharply. "Very rarely."

"Don't you get horny?" Garen demands.

"Must you be so vulgar?" Obi-Wan shoots back, avoiding the question. "You're worse than Anakin."

"But don't you?"

"I try not to land myself in situations whereupon I am liable to become aroused."

"You make me sad, Obi. You know no-one actually sticks to the vows. You're practically the only one in the Temple who follows it."

Force, even _Anakin_ had more respect than this. "Garen Muln, enough is enough," Obi-Wan says firmly. "I should not have to stand here and listen to you abuse my lifestyle choices –"

"Yeesh, fine! I'm sorry!" Obi-Wan resist the urge to roll his eyes. "But still…_eleven years?_ Do you even _remember_ what to do with your penis?"

"My memory is not faulty," he says coldly, then sighs. "Listen, Garen…whatever you do, please don't tell Quinlan. I'll never hear the end of it then."

"Damn it, there goes half the fun…"

"Garen!"

"I'm joking! Although if I did tell him, Quin'll be devastated to hear it."

"Why, because it means I can't have sex with him again?" Immediately, Obi-Wan knows this was the wrong thing to let slip.

"You've slept with Quinlan?" Garen shrieks.

"…I have _got_ to stop telling you these things," Obi-Wan eventually mutters, and picks up his glass.

"When?"

Walking backwards out of the kitchen and ignoring the slight sting of his thigh, Obi-Wan raises his glass. "I was seventeen – and rest assured, it was the first and _only_ time I ever had sex with him." He takes a gulp of water and turns around – then promptly chokes and sprays the water all over the bench.

"Wow, Master. Quinlan Vos. I'm impressed."

From behind his smirking Padawan, Mace closes his eyes and mutters something about not wanting to know and needing a drink. Mortified, Obi-Wan closes his eyes and wishes for a quick and painless death. _I was right,_ he thinks. _My vow is most certainly the joke of the week._

* * *

For the next few hours Obi-Wan is completely unable to bring himself to look at Anakin in the eye. "How much did you hear, anyway?" he finally manages to ask over dinner, but immediately regrets it when Anakin grins slyly.

"Enough." There is a pause. "So, uh…"

"Why do I not like the sound of this?"

"I don't know, Master," Anakin says far too innocently.

"I'm not telling you about it, if that's what you're hoping to get out of me."

"I didn't know you liked men."

This is _not_ the conversation he wants to be having. "I am…impartial to both genders," Obi-Wan admits. "I was always very attracted to Quinlan as a teenager, and Quinlan…well, Quinlan's attracted to anything with a Force signature, but that's beside the point. The point is, I was once seventeen and had taken no vow at the time, and…well…there's no shame in it. Sex is a perfectly natural aspect of life. We were young and it was convenient, and, well…"

"You were horny?"

"I would not have expressed myself so crudely, but yes."

"Why _did_ you take the vow?"

"I form attachments to people far too easily, Anakin. When I let myself get close to people, I become very fond of them. Cerasi, Siri Tachi, Qui-Gon. You. I had my fair share of lovers as a younger man but I felt too deeply about them. I dislike one-night stands and casual sex – I would only have sex with someone whom I trusted and felt close enough with to share such an intimate act, but that in itself is attachment and therefore I would be contradicting myself, and I could not in good conscience preach to you about the dangers of attachment when I could not follow my own advice. I prefer my relationships to be long-term, but as a Jedi this is forbidden. The vow is a way for me to avoid my own weakness. I believe in it, Anakin. It has served me well over the years."

"But it's been eleven years. Surely you miss it?"

"The longer I go without it the less I need it," Obi-Wan says, and this is the end of the conversation.

* * *

The next day, Anakin mulls over the conversation. Obi-Wan didn't say he _didn't_ miss it, Anakin realises and casts a glance over at his Master, who is walking confidently down the corridor, his limp barely perceptible. He said 'need', not 'want', and there is a considerable difference between the two…

"Obi-Wan."

Master and Padawan turn around to see none other than Master Quinlan Vos, returned from his latest mission. Obi-Wan looks pleased to see his childhood friend but Anakin is cautious: Quinlan's posture is too stiff, his stride to purposeful, and the Force doesn't feel very relaxed. If Obi-Wan is aware of the tense atmosphere, he doesn't let it show. "Quin, it's good to see you agUNNGH –"

Anakin can do little but stare when Master Vos's knee is buried with alarming strength and speed in Obi-Wan's crotch.

"Serves you right," Quinlan growls as Obi-Wan doubles over and collapses to his knees, and Anakin resists the urge to cover his own genitals protectively.

"Force, _why_," Obi-Wan groans from the floor.

The Kiffar Master glares. "Oh, get over it. _Apparently_ they're just there for decoration these days."

Perhaps Anakin is imagining it, but for a moment there Quinlan sounded almost bitter.

"I think he likes you," Anakin comments as Quinlan storms away. Obi-Wan groans again. "Do you need me to get a healer, Master?"

"No, Padawan, I'll be all right, thank you," Obi-Wan wheezes, looking up at him weakly through watering eyes. "I don't use them anyway."

Perhaps not, and sure, Obi-Wan's limp much better now, but that just _mean._ Even Anakin wouldn't have done something like that.

Obi-Wan frequently tells him that his biggest problem is that he doesn't think, he feels. Only thing wrong with that is that sometimes his good ideas based on feelings are usually really just like bad presents in pretty wrapping paper, so using the Force to trip Quinlan Vos up is not one of his better ideas, especially since –

"SKYWALKER!"

* * *

Taking revenge on Windu will never end well. Anakin learnt this the hard way many, many years ago when he accidentally-on-purpose dyed Windu's robes bright purple to match his lightsaber and was tragically caught, but he never seems to learn from this. Much like his not-so-good idea in tripping Quinlan Vos up with the Force, making Windu fall down a flight of stairs (via completely natural methods) seems fun and deserved at the time, but the ever predictable "_SKYWALKER!_" is practically a daily ritual now, and there are only so many dishes in the Temple he can bear to wash.

* * *

Obi-Wan's research and battle plans have been put to good use. Intelligence from Dexter provides essential information – and today, the buzz about Muunilinst. "The Banking Clan has hidden huge factories on Muunilinst, building huge droid armies and massive warships. We must act quickly!" Obi-Wan is animatedly telling the Council.

"Not enough Knights, we have," Yoda says grimly.

"Then send me. Anakin and I will take a legion of clones and secure the planet."

"You believe you are ready?" Adi Gallia says serenely from the side, and Obi-Wan straightens. If Anakin hadn't known better, he would have thought Obi-Wan to be indignant.

"I have recovered well," Obi-Wan says with conviction. "I am ready to return to the field."

Yes, he is, Anakin agrees when his eyes rake over Obi-Wan's figure. His leg hasn't been bothering him much lately, and he even has that sexy slinky swagger of his back when he isn't limping slightly.

When Obi-Wan clears his throat and stares at him pointedly, Anakin realises his shields are slipping and that Obi-Wan heard that thought. Flushing, he strengthens them, and concentrates on the meeting, but can't ignore the fact that Obi-Wan's face is a spectacular colour of pink and, amazingly, doesn't feel angry through the bond but possibly grudgingly _pleased_.

"Very well. Deployed to Muunilinst, you and your Padawan will be."

Anakin cannot stop the thrill of simultaneous excitement and terror that runs through him, and a quick glance at Obi-Wan's face tells him his Master feels exactly the same way.

But of course, Yoda does what Yoda has always done, and instantly destroys the mood. "With you, Master Windu will also go."

"_What?_"

Funnily enough, Anakin realises feeling a bit dazed, it wasn't his cry of outrage, but Windu's, and when the Korun Master tries to protest some more, there is something infinitely satisfying about seeing Yoda reach over to hit him over his waxed head with his gimmer stick (which Anakin has secretly dubbed the Gimmer Stick of DOOOM). It almost makes Windu's imminent presence worth it.

_Almost_.


	21. The Boy

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Eighteen –  
The Boy

(Or, Mace Windu And The Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Week)

Mace knew it was going to be the start of one of _those_ weeks when he had to deliver clothes to a stark-naked so-called Chosen One at Senator Amidala's residence just before dinner.

From there, things just went downhill.

Namely:

A) Obi-Wan Kenobi attacking his apprentice in the middle of the Room of a Thousand Fountains;

and

B) _Obi-Wan fucking Kenobi attacking his kriffing apprentice in the middle of the vaping Room of a Thousand Fountains._

Not that Mace actually _blames_ him. If Mace ever had the misfortune to be saddled with an apprentice like _that_, he would've probably killed him a long time ago, Dark Side be damned.

Yes, he thinks grimly, this is going to be a bad, _bad_ week.

* * *

Day One can only be described as "shit", since Yoda has decided Obi-Wan and The Boy both need scheduled counselling sessions. It's as if there _isn't_ a war raging, but the stupid troll has never had his priorities set out straight.

"The last time you meditated; when was it?" Yoda interrogates Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan is silent for a long time, then chuckles without humour. "I don't remember," he confesses.

"Hmm."

_Thwack!_

"Ouch!"

"Deserved that, you did."

The Boy snickers into his hand, and Mace stifles a sigh.

"Other business to attend, I have. Offer you counsel, Master Windu will."

Charming. When he _should_ be preparing for a battle, he's stuck babysitting Kenobi and his wayward Padawan. Well, a few sharp slaps to the head should set them both straight in no time. Yoda begins to shuffle away, his gimmer stick tapping on the floor, and he pauses just before reaching the door. "Wish for you to speak to a new Knight, I do, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan looks surprised. "Of course, Master Yoda. May I enquire as to what I must address?"

"A celibacy vow, he has taken. Your advice, he could use."

From the corner of his eye, Mace sees The Boy wince and his hands inch towards his groin. Mace's left eye twitches. "Certainly," Obi-Wan complies obliviously. "Forgive me, Master, but why are you unable to address him yourself?"

_NO YOU DID NOT JUST ASK THAT OBI-WAN KENOBI YOU FORCE-FORSAKEN MORON –_

"No celibacy vow I have taken, Obi-Wan. The pleasures of the flesh, I enjoy too much. Inappropriate to advise him, I am."

The Grandmaster disappears, and a queasy silence reigns. The Boy looks green. "_I thought you were joking when you told me that!_" he hisses at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan looks just as ill. "I _was_," he mutters. "I didn't actually _think_…"

Twitch. Shudder. Sneer.

Mace slaps them both on the backs of their heads and orders them to meditate.

* * *

Day Two starts off poorly, namely Obi-Wan locating Mace to ask him something _no-one_ should ever have to wake up to.

"Have you seen Anakin around?"

_Ohshit_, Mace thinks, because a missing So-Called Chosen One _always_ equates to Bad News, like tunics and robes being dyed purple. "I don't know where _the boy_ is."

He half expects Obi-Wan to remind him that _the boy's_ name is Anakin, and he would appreciate it if he started using it, thankyouverymuch.

"You don't know or you don't care?"

"Pick one," Mace snarls nastily.

Obi-Wan thinks it over a bit. "You know, I think you're starting to warm up to him, Mace," he says, sounding far too cheerful for the hour of the morning, and strolls away with a slight limp.

TwitchTwitch_Twitch_ShudderSNEER.

* * *

Mace ends up finding The Boy an hour later.

Under his speeder.

With a tool box.

"SKYWALKER!"

It pleases him to no end when The Boy, in his fright, yelps loudly and whacks his head on the underside of the vehicle.

* * *

"Did you lose _this?_"

The Boy grunts a little as Mace thrusts him over before Obi-Wan by his unruly, _not-standard_ haircut. He struggles a bit, but Mace only tightens his hold in The Boy's ridiculous hair. Obi-Wan looks up from his datapad and smiles widely. "You found it!" he exclaims happily. "Thank you, Mace. I was wondering where I'd put it."

"Gee, thanks," The Boy mutters, and Obi-Wan grins at him.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"I caught _the boy_," Mace spits, "hotwiring my speeder!"

The Boy scowls. "It was an accident."

_An _accident_, my waxed head, you little –!_

"When Revan strategically decided to activate the Mass Shadow Generator on Malachor V to simultaneously annihilate the entire Mandalorian army and half of her Republic fleet, _that_ was an accident. _You_ are a _menace_, and –!"

"It's all right, Mace, I'll take care of this," Obi-Wan tries to negotiate, but Mace is having none of it.

"No, you will not. _I_ will. Skywalker! I expect to see you first thing tomorrow morning outside the Council Chambers to discuss your punishment."

"All right," The Boy whines, and tries to make his escape. Mace, however, is in no hurry to release him and tightens his death grip in The Boy's perpetually messy hair and jerks him back sharply, eliciting a sharp cry from the whelp. Obi-Wan's eyebrows rise.

"I don't suppose you'd like to give him back now, Master Windu?"

This time, the Boy smirks. "He's just jealous because I have hair and he doesnARRRGH!"

"Oops. My hand slipped," Mace snarks, and releases The Boy's hair, shoving him forward roughly, then turns and abruptly leaves. Feeling The Boy's heavy scowl follow him, Mace doesn't bother looking back over his shoulder when he shouts, "_And cut that hair off or I'll do it for you!_"

* * *

The best part of the week definitely has to be on Day Three when Mace manages to grab The Boy by the ear and physically force him into a chair to personally cut that disgraceful hair off.

The Boy sniffles the entire time, and Mace is most assuredly _not_ grinning with glee.

* * *

When Windu delivers the Order's precious Chosen One back to his quarters after another round of torture – _ahem_, he corrects himself, _punishment_ – on Day Four he knows his week is about to get a little worse when he is met by Knight Muln's shocked exclamation, "You've slept with Quinlan?"

The Boy splutters in shock as Obi-Wan mutters something from the other room, and Mace sighs. _This can_not_ be good_.

"When?"

Obi-Wan's voice gets louder as he walks backwards through to the living room from the kitchen, holding a glass of water. "I was seventeen – and rest assured, it was the first and _only_ time I ever had sex with him."

Obi-Wan raises the glass to his lips and turns around – then promptly chokes and sprays the water all over the bench when he finally notices that Mace and The Boy have returned.

"Wow, Master," The Boy comments appreciatively. "Quinlan Vos. I'm impressed."

Mace closes his eyes. "No. I don't want to know. I just need a drink," he mutters to himself, and walks away.

Damn The Boy.

Damn his Master too, while he's is in the mood of damning things.

* * *

On Day Five, witnessing The Boy frivolously using the Force to trip up Quinlan Vos is as good as any reason to get him into trouble again.

"SKYWALKER!"

Ten minutes later, The Boy is standing before Yoda and Yoda's gimmer stick.

"OW!"

"Hit you harder, I can!" Yoda scolds. The Boy shoots the troll a dirty look and rubs his shins.

"The Force is not to be used injudiciously," Mace says gravely.

The Boy sniffs and slouches like the petulant child he is. "The Force can suck my –"

"Padawan!" Obi-Wan barks, but the traitor is hiding a mortified grin and Yoda's gimmer stick collides with the Chosen One's shins again. Mace releases a long suffering sigh.

After their scheduled meditation, Yoda makes a break for it, leaving Mace alone with the Destructive Duo, much to his dismay. Washing dishes and reciting the list of orders the clones are programmed with is planned for The Boy and he sends Obi-Wan swiftly on his way. An hour into the punishment, The Boy starts talking. "I've been thinking."

"Did it hurt?" Mace snarks, and The Boy scowls. He's been doing that a lot lately, and if he keeps it up he'll get wrinkles.

"Why are the clones programmed with an order for them to perform the box-step?" The Boy wonders aloud, bewildered.

Mace steeples his fingers and heaves another sigh, turning away. "Well, Master Sifo-Dyas was the one who requisitioned them." He frowns. "He _was_ a bit fucked up in the head, now that I think about it."

He hears a choke from behind him and he turns back around to see The Boy looking like he is experiencing an aneurism. Well, Mace thinks with un-Jedi-like satisfaction, he's _not_ calling the Healers.

* * *

On Day Six, Mace has nearly had more than enough. "Master Kenobi," Mace acknowledges with a slight nod of his head as he passes them in the hallway. It takes a lot of effort to grit out, "Skywalker," but at least he was civil and can get on with his day. Master and Padawan mutter "Master Windu" politely in return, and Mace thinks that this, _this_ is the end of it, but as he nears the top of the stairs –

"You never tell me I'm beautiful anymore, Master Windu!"

His foot misses the first step: thrown off balance and unable to grab a passing Initiate, Mace finds himself tumbling down the rest of the staircase. In a groaning heap at the bottom of the stairs, he can distantly hear Obi-Wan's voice, possibly scolding that, that _schutta_ of a Boy, and is firmly convinced that this was all an elaborate set-up.

"_SKYWALKER!_"

* * *

Day Seven isn't looking too bad at the start, which is why Mace knows that it's going to be the worst.

While The Boy is more or less completely useless when not fighting enemies, his Master is thankfully more useful. Due to Obi-Wan's research and intelligence from Dexter Jettster (Mace shudders: Obi-Wan is a good man with his heart in the right place, but his choice in friends is _highly_ questionable) he has managed to provide the Order, and the Republic, with essential information – today, about Muunilinst. "The Banking Clan has hidden huge factories on Muunilinst, building huge droid armies and massive warships. We must act quickly!" Obi-Wan announces to the Council.

"Not enough Knights, we have," Yoda says grimly.

"Then send me. Anakin and I will take a legion of clones and secure the planet."

"You believe you are ready?" Adi Gallia questions, and Obi-Wan replies with conviction.

"I have recovered well. I am ready to return to the field."

Somehow Mace finds himself thinking that yes, Obi-Wan _is_ ready, since he even has that sexy slinky swagg-_oh for the love of the Force SKYWALKER YOU LITTLE INGRATE –_

Before he can let out a roar and lunge at The Boy with homicidal intent, Obi-Wan clears his throat and stares at his depraved apprentice pointedly. Said depraved apprentice looks rightfully embarrassed and strengthens his shields again. Mace shudders, certainly not missing that inappropriate pleased pink hue on Obi-Wan's face.

"Very well. Deployed to Muunilinst, you and your Padawan will be," Yoda decides, apparently pretending that he heard nothing. Stupid troll. "With you, Master Windu will also go."

"_What?_"

Instinctively, Mace rears himself up ready to admonish The Boy for his blatant disrespect, but it takes him a good five seconds to realise that everyone is staring at _him_, not The Boy, which means that _he_ was the one who shouted. Immediately Mace rounds on the evil little green troll to protest, only to end up with a gimmer stick imprint on his head.

That's it, Mace thinks bitterly. There is no way that turning to the Dark Side can possibly be worse than _this_.

* * *

So, according to the awesomeness that is Wookieepedia, a standard Coruscanti week is only five days, but I didn't know that until just now. So, sorry to you Star Wars purists, but I'm shamefully applying earthly weeks to our beloved GFFA. Oops? I hope you forgive me for that small factual error. Aside from that, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!


	22. Road To Perdition

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Nineteen –  
Road To Perdition

Hyperspace blends the universe together in a seductive swirl of light and darkness. No matter how many times Obi-Wan observes this, or grouses to himself that flying is for droids, he can never quite seem to tear his eyes away from the sight.

It is just a shame, he thinks, unsure whether he is excited or sad, that this time the blur of hyperspace is the introduction to battle. He sighs and glances over at Anakin in the co-pilot's seat, similarly watching the beauty rush by them. The swirling blues and whites are reflected in Anakin's blue eyes, making them shine. The mood is sombre – appropriate, perhaps, but Obi-Wan has never liked seeing Anakin so torn between anxiety and excitement (_and fear_, he adds).

"So," Obi-Wan breaks the lone hum of the hyperdrive unit, and Anakin raises his eyebrows, distracted.

"Mmm?"

"…I have my sexy slinky swagger back, do I?" Obi-Wan says casually, and Anakin groans and flushes red.

"You weren't meant to hear that," Anakin mumbles.

"I gathered as much." Anakin refuses to meet his gaze, and Obi-Wan relents his light teasing. "We'll need to work on your shielding a little more, I think, in light of our…bond."

An awkward silence descends.

"…It's true, though," Anakin adds in a small voice.

"Pardon?"

"It's true. You, uh, you're getting back to normal. There's hardly a limp anymore."

In other words, Anakin thinks he really does have a sexy slinky swagger, and Obi-Wan finds himself desperately fighting – and failing miserably – an altogether too-pleased smile and light flush. "Thank you, Anakin," he says softly, wishing he didn't feel like a teenager.

He does not yet know it, but this is the last time he will smile for months.

The _Negotiator_, Obi-Wan's flagship (very aptly named, Anakin had said approvingly to Obi-Wan's sheepish grin) drops out of hyperspace, halting the uncomfortable moment, and Obi-Wan bites back a sigh of dread.

_I doubt even Master Qui-Gon could have prepared a Jedi for this_.

* * *

If only he knew just how right he had been, weeks ago. No-one, including Qui-Gon, could _ever_ have known how to prepare a Jedi, a man, for war. Obi-Wan is beginning to think that such a thing doesn't even exist. Sighing heavily and clipping his utility belt around his waist, Obi-Wan takes the moment to collect himself. Mace is on the planet, leading more forces, but he – and Anakin – would inevitably be flying into battle once more. Never mind that he doesn't even _like_ flying…

It had been a disaster from the start: the Republic fleet of _Acclamator-I_-class assault ships encountered resistance as soon as it even entered the orbit of the planet Muunilinst. Losing several gunships to enemy fire was a blow to Republic morale, but thankfully, Obi-Wan's strategic landing plan led by Mace had their invasion force land on the planet where the Korun Master and legions of clones engaged the Separatists Droid Army in front of the city of Harnaidan before too much damage was sustained.

What looked like an initial CIS victory quickly turned into a potential Republic victory after their forces made progress during the first stages of the Harnaidan siege. The number of droids destroyed vastly outweighed the number of clones lost, but it didn't stop the Force from screaming in pain every time a man died in action.

And the worst thing is, Obi-Wan can't afford to slow down and go back for an injured man – not anymore. In the past, he would have done, but he constantly needs to remind himself of one very important thing: this is war, and winning is crucial. At all costs. Even if it means the sacrifice of loyal men.

It is brutal, but it is simply a fact.

He breathes deeply and rests his head against the cool belly steel of his starfighter, and lets the Force calm him. His thigh aches from the chill and the weariness of battle and he rubs it absently, trying to ease the constant dull pain. Nothing he does helps it – it is deep inside, in the bone, though sometimes it is bearable.

"General Kenobi, sir? Are you all right?"

Obi-Wan opens his eyes. Clones, he thinks, are remarkable – so identical, and yet so human at the same time. He has tried to remain detached from these men who fight alongside him every day, putting their lives at risk for a Republic they were designed for, but it is almost impossible. They have only been fighting together for a few weeks, they don't even have names, and already it is unbearable when even one of them dies.

Obi-Wan knows now, what he has to become to survive this war. The Separatists and Dooku are fighting with evil in the name of evil, using disposable droids that feel nothing – and no matter how much he tries to convince himself otherwise, he knows that the Republic and the Jedi are fighting with evil in the name of good, using breathing, feeling men who know what pain and loss is. Which, he wonders, is the _more_ evil then? He has never seen so much bloodshed and brutality – never felt so much loss.

If he wants to win this war, he can't let himself be human – can't let himself get attached to the men he trusts his very life with. Very difficult to do so, really, when every single day the clones inadvertently stop him from doing just that; just as Anakin does his damnedest to make him remember what it is like to feel.

"Sir?"

Blast that concerned tone. He doesn't even know which clone this one is and already his heart is filling with compassion for this man.

"I'm fine, thank you," Obi-Wan answers, and offers a reassuring nod. "And you, trooper?"

"At the ready, sir."

"Good man." Obi-Wan straightens his shoulders and forces a look of grim determination onto his face. "Let's get this show on the road. How's the battle plan?"

"Precise and flawless as usual, sir."

Obi-Wan nods again, and calls his squadron over. After all, he isn't called the Strategist for nothing.

* * *

It is decided that Obi-Wan is to take the space battle with Anakin while Mace leads a team of clone lancer troopers out on land to meet the bounty hunter Durge's forces. Obi-Wan isn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved: on one hand, he much prefers keeping his feet firmly on the ground, since flying is for droids. On the other, while his limp has been replaced by his sexy slinky swagger again (Obi-Wan blushes to himself), the pain is still there and he can't yet get involved in long and dangerous battles. Mace is ultimately the better swordsman to deal with Durge, so Obi-Wan doesn't worry about him, preferring to worry about himself and Anakin as they lead the clone navy into what the Force warns him will be a dangerous, violent space battle above Muunilinst.

He uses the Force to calm himself down; he's been doing that a lot lately, the strain of battle eating away at his patience. He winces when the ever-persistent cold of space makes his leg ache again, and he presses a palm to it, wishing that the starfighter cockpit isn't so small and confining.

"_Does your leg hurt?"_ Anakin's voice crackles over the comm. Blast, Obi-Wan thinks, he must have felt it through their bond.

"No, it's fine. Really, Anakin. It just aches a little from being in space. Nothing I can't handle," he adds cheerfully.

"_Well, all right,"_ Anakin responds doubtfully, and Obi-Wan watches his starfighter from the corner of his eye. _"Are you ready, Master?"_

Something about Anakin's ease makes Obi-Wan relax. His shoulders fall, the tension giving way slightly, and Obi-Wan raises his eyebrows. "Only if you are, Padawan."

"_Master, I'm shocked you even need to consider that!"_

Despite himself, Obi-Wan finds the corners of his lips twitching. "Well then, Commander Skywalker, lead on."

It is dreamlike, and yet at the same time altogether far too real – Anakin's exhilaration of death-defying acts floods the bond and Obi-Wan immerses himself in the Force when several Republic _Acclamator-_class Assault Ships engage the CIS's gun platforms.

The Strategist's eyes can see the the CIS _Nantex_-class starfighters in attack formation, closing in on them. He could get a shot at them, destroy some of them and tilt the battle in their favour if _only_ he could get clearance. "Anakin, I can get a clear shot at it if –"

But Anakin can already see, can already feel it through the Force and over their pulsating bond, and orders to their clone squadrons, _"Disengage! Repeat, disengage!"_

The clones obey and clear off, and Obi-Wan aims and fires at the large numbers of enclosing enemy fighters with his proton torpedoes. Anakin whoops loudly at the destruction and spins wildly in a way that would have given anyone a panic attack to avoid rapid CIS fire, _only just _coming out without a scratch. As the Chosen One does. Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. "Anakin, try not to show off so much. I'm an old man, I can only take so many of your stunts."

"_You aren't old, Obi-Wan! And let's face it, you love it when I do that sort of stuff."_

"When you do 'that sort of stuff', as you so eloquently put it, I feel myself sprouting grey hairs by the second. I most certainly do _not_ love it when you do that."

"_Now, now, Master, lying is very unbecoming of you! You most certainly _do _love it. Gives you an excuse to tell me off."_

"Contrary to your deluded beliefs, I do not _enjoy_ scolding you, my very young apprentice –"

"_Sure you do! It's, like, our version of foreplay or something."_

Obi-Wan jerks the steering sharply to the left, and nearly gets ripped apart by Separatist fighter firepower. "_Anakin Skywalker –!_"

Anakin's laughter sounds like warmth and life in his ears, drowning out the screams of death in the Force if only for that moment. Obi-Wan splutters indignantly and tries to stay live, feeling a traitorous blush staining his cheeks. "That is the most – _inappropriate_ – ridiculous, completely _out of place_ –"

And yet, he's fighting off a guilty grin.

"_Take a few deep breaths, Master, and try and calm down a bit."_

Well, that's never a good sign. "Oh dear. Why do I not like the sound of this?"

"_I'm gonna give you another excuse to yell at me."_

"Force help me, Anakin, you are going to be the _death_ of me," Obi-Wan mutters.

"_Commanding clone squadrons to fire all concussion missiles across the bow of _Cruiser 8_ – repeat, fire all concussion missiles across the bow of _Cruiser 8!"

The confusion of the clones in Red Squadron is thick in the atmosphere, but Obi-Wan doesn't have time to ask what Anakin has in mind. He already knows, and instead of it making him outraged or terrified for his Padawan, he simply sighs and says, "I am definitely getting too old for this."

Anakin laughs again and flies past the ship just as the missiles start arriving – so close, it's too close, and if Obi-Wan doesn't know what is going on he'd be panicking. The missiles strike, but not at the intended target: the entire swarm of fighters pursuing Anakin, hot on his tail, are destroyed in the interception, and Anakin whoops again. Obi-Wan begins to suspect that his Padawan is having possibly a little _too _much fun…

"Anakin, be_ careful –_" he stresses in a long-suffering tone.

"_You worry too much, Obi-Wan."_

"I _have_ to worry –"

"– _Because I don't worry at all, right?"_

The grin can almost be heard in his hearty voice, and Obi-Wan shakes his head. "I'm starting to think you know me too well. Oh, and you still have missiles on your tail," he adds casually, watching Anakin zip past him again.

"_Really?"_ Anakin sounds pleasantly surprised by this tidbit of information. _"Brilliant. Check _this_ out –"_

Anakin flies precariously through the hangar of one of the gun platforms, and releases a triumphant _"yes!"_ when the missiles collide with various objects in there, destroying the gun platform from the inside. He shoots out before the place can collapse around him, forever following his instincts with the Force, and Obi-Wan watches on in admiration, feeling Anakin's excited heartbeat hammer through the Force almost in synch with his.

"Show off," he can't help but grumble affectionately.

"_See, you love it."_

Sustained turbolaser fire from the Republic capital ships make quick work of the other gun platform, until only a few Separatist fighters remain. The space battle, which looked so daunting before, is quickly becoming another Republic victory.

"_Vape it –"_

Obi-Wan jumps, startled by the sudden loss of transmissions from their Blue Squadron – and the loss of life. He twists in the cockpit, trying to see what is going on. "Anakin?"

"_Our entire Blue Squadron has been annihilated! This is no droid pilot…"_

A strange-looking fighter has joined the battle, quickly and sharply shooting down Republic forces as accurately as a targeting machine. It's moving too quickly to get a lock, almost as skilfully as Anakin.

"_Can you feel that? Whatever or whoever it is, they're very strong in the Force." _

Obi-Wan can feel it, and he doesn't like it one bit. The frown plagues his forehead.

"_Kriffing Force, I am personally engaging this bastard –"_

"Anakin –"

But Anakin speeds after the mysterious ship, breaching the atmosphere in a move that would have given anyone other than Obi-Wan a heart attack, and disappears – no doubt into the streets of Harnaidan. Obi-Wan fights off the irritation and frustration, bringing down another Separatist fighter with deadly precise fire.

"Just take it out and get back up here!" he orders sharply, eyes desperately scanning the orbit for any sign of Anakin's fighter. Anakin's voice crackles back over the comm., static and breathless.

"_No can do, Master. The fighter is going to make a jump to hyperspace, I've been sent the coordinates. Whoever it is wants me to follow them –"_

_Hyperspace? Follow?_ The pit of Obi-Wan's stomach drops. "Anakin, you can't! You have a battle _here_ –"

"_Master, this _is_ the battle! I'm going after it – engaging hyperdrive unit –"_

Blind panic grips Obi-Wan with those words, the realisation like a punch to the chest.

He's going to leave him.

He's going to leave him here, to fight this space battle _alone_, Force damn it he hates flying, he's never been as good as Anakin and he hates this fear that seizes his heart tightly because he needs him, he _needs_ him and it's just like Geonosis all over again, Anakin leaping off the LAAT/i leaving him to face Dooku alone, the twist of a blood-red lightsaber in his shoulder and thigh and the crack of lightning –

"Anakin, _please!_ Please, don't – I need you here, I –"

The strangled cry breaks off with a choke. Clutching the controls, Obi-Wan searches for an anchor, something to draw him back out of this pit of sheer terror he has fallen into, but there's nothing but the durasteel walls of the cockpit closing in on him, trapping him in this steel prison, _alone_. It's like one of his nightmares, but this time it's real; Anakin is going to leave him in battle once more, on his own. Dooku's triumphant smirk fills his vision, illuminated by the glow of his blood-red lightsaber. _Not again. Please, Anakin, not again –_

His panicked breathing is all he can hear, until after a long moment, when he is sure Anakin has made that fateful jump to hyperspace, a voice crackles over the comm.

"_Disengaging hyperdrive unit, normal flight pattern reengaged. Target has made the jump to hyperspace; repeat, target is lost. I'm coming back now."_

For a second, darkness takes over Obi-Wan's vision and he later wonders if he passed out. Oxygen floods his lungs and he breathes again, blinking the blur from his eyes, and barely realises how badly he is shaking. It's both real and shocking at the same time, the emotion of sheer relief cools his chest like water doused on a fire.

_Anakin didn't leave._

Swallowing, Obi-Wan grips his controls with violently trembling hands and continues to lead his remaining troops, only speaking to bark out strategic orders; not trusting himself to fall into witty banter. He can hardly think straight as it is.

_He didn't leave. He's here, he's fighting beside me_, Obi-Wan tells himself when Anakin makes it back to the battle, even though that treacherous dark voice hisses in the back of his mind, _but he was going to…_

Obi-Wan breathes sharply.

_Concentrate. Here. Now._

The phantom smell of ash infiltrates his senses long after the battle has ended.

* * *

"The IG Banking Clan has surrendered! The day is ours! _The Republic is victorious!_"

The cheers of the clone troopers and Republic officers is nothing short of deafening responding to Mace Windu's triumphant cry. Obi-Wan just wishes that he was capable of responding the same way.

Ever since the victory of the space battle, Obi-Wan has steadfastly been avoiding Anakin, and is now making a break for his quarters. It will be a while before Anakin finds him, enough time to allow him to pull himself together and stop this ridiculous behaviour.

_I'm going after it – engaging hyperdrive unit –_

Why is he like this, why can't he stop shaking? Those words are all he can hear, as cruel as those life-changing words on Geonosis.

_I don't care!_

"Stop it," he mutters furiously to himself. He was over this, he knew he was, he did trust Anakin, but those impetuous words, _I'm going after it – engaging hyperdrive unit – _and how he'd thought, in that moment, that Anakin truly was going to leave him _again_.

Safely locked in his quarters, Obi-Wan clutches the wall for support, feels his knees give out, and slides down, trembling violently. Every muscle feels weak and his bones like water, but he manages to pull himself over to his bed and lie down, breathing deeply in the façade of serenity.

_Stop shaking. Stop, just stop thinking about it, he didn't leave you, he didn't._

_But he was _going_ to._

What stopped Anakin from making that jump to hyperspace, abandoning him again? Was it his pathetic, selfish plea of attachment and fear that halted the younger man's impulsive decision, made him reconsider? Was it –

Obi-Wan jumps when a weight makes the bed sink, and someone's hands rest on his back. Blast, he must really be out of it if he didn't sense this.

"You're shaking."

Anakin. Obi-Wan clears his throat and turns over to look up. "No, I'm – I'm fine. I'm just cold –"

"Don't lie, Master. You're terrified, I can feel it. This is because of today, isn't it."

Obi-Wan can't reply, and Anakin inhales sharply then lays down beside his Master, resting his hand on Obi-Wan's arm, lending him a warmth he can't seem to generate on his own.

"Force, what have I done to you?" he whispers, sounding horrified, and although Obi-Wan isn't sure whether it is for him or for Anakin, he swallows and shakes his head.

"No, I – I should be over this, I thought I was past –"

"You still don't trust me."

Obi-Wan's heart skips a beat._ Not this again, please, not _–

"Maybe you shouldn't," Anakin continues, his eyes darkened with self-mortification. "I know what I almost did, after everything, and – oh, Force, Master, you must have thought, and I nearly – kriffing hells, I'm so sorry –" Obi-Wan shivers and Anakin holds him even closer. "I will never leave you in battle again, Master. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Anakin," Obi-Wan murmurs, letting the Jedi, the General, take over where the man will fail. "There will be times in battle that you will have no choice but to leave me behind, and, as much as loathe admitting it, vice versa. Sometimes, in war, this is necessary."

"But today wasn't necessary."

"No, it wasn't. You were needed there." Anakin presses his cheek against Obi-Wan's and breathes deeply, accepting the admonishment as he never would have done in the past, and Obi-Wan sighs into the firm hold. "You _didn't_ leave me," he says out loud, hoping to make himself believe it.

"I didn't."

"Don't do that again, Anakin." No explanation is needed about what 'that' is.

"I won't."

"Only if it's necessary."

"I can't promise that, Master."

"Try, then."

"There is no try, Master."

"Don't be cheeky, Anakin."

Anakin doesn't laugh at Obi-Wan's half-attempt at humour. "Don't be afraid, Master," he instead responds softly, and touches Obi-Wan's cheek, his thumb brushing at the corner of his lips.

He closes his eyes and lets Anakin trace his bearded jawline, content to just allow Anakin's soft breathing lull him into sleep wrapped securely in the younger man's arms.

_Oh, Anakin, I don't think I am anymore_.

For the first time that night, he feels safe.

* * *

The Battle of Muunilinst was a major battle that took place four months after the Battle of Geonosis (22 BBY), featured in the _Star Wars: Clone Wars_ animated series which aired from 2003 to 2005. The battle was initiated by the Republic to restrain CIS funding and battle droid production. Storming the planet, the Republic assaulted the main city of Harnaidan to eliminate key enemy defences, led by Obi-Wan Kenobi, while Anakin Skywalker led the space assault. This was the first battle that the bounty hunter Durge was seen in. Despite heavy CIS resistance, the Republic succeeded in capturing the command. The battle would also signify the Jedi's first encounter with Asajj Ventress: Anakin made the jump to hyperspace to follow the mysterious ship which annihilated his Blue Squadron, disobeying a direct order from Obi-Wan, which resulted in a fateful lightsaber duel on the fourth moon of Yavin.

In _From The Ashes_, Mace Windu accompanies Obi-Wan and Anakin to Muunilinst due to Obi-Wan's injuries which prevent him from taking a more physical role. Mace takes the ground forces and encounters Durge while Obi-Wan and Anakin lead the space assault. Anakin does not make the jump to hyperspace to follow Asajj Ventress. As far as I am aware, this chapter does not use any major dialogue from the episode this battle was featured in except for a few main quotes that can be found on Wookieepedia.


	23. Automated Response

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Twenty –  
Automated Response 

"_Anakin –"_

This is the last thing he hears before he plunges after the mysterious starfighter, breaching the atmosphere with a twist of controls that probably makes Obi-Wan hyperventilate, and descends into the streets of Harnaidan. Smoking houses and crumbling buildings are a blur around him, insignificant obstacles; his ears are ringing loudly, hissing _faster, faster_, and all he can see is that ship with the Force-sensitive pilot, mocking, _tempting_ –

"_Just take it out and get back up here!"_ Obi-Wan's voice snaps in his ear, jolting him out of concentration. Anakin snarls in annoyance and his screen beeps as it receives a message. Artoo whistles in alarm, and Anakin ignores him. The message contains coordinates to – somewhere, he doesn't recognise it.

And a challenge.

_Fly fast, little hero – catch me if you can._

Determination and anger roll into one. "No can do, Master," he replies breathlessly, adrenalin coursing through his veins. "The fighter is going to make a jump to hyperspace, I've been sent the coordinates. Whoever it is wants me to follow them –"

"_Anakin, you can't! You have a battle _here –_"_

"Master, this _is_ the battle!" Anakin snaps. Doesn't Obi-Wan understand? He _can't_ let this chance slip through his fingers, he _needs_ to know who this Force-user is – it's like a one-minded obsession consuming him from the inside out, and automatically his hands tighten on the controls, unable to stop himself. It is more than mere impulse; this insatiable _need_ to go after this mysterious Force-user pulses through his blood as though imprinted on his genetic code. "I'm going after it – engaging hyperdrive unit –"

He is completely unprepared for the sheer terror which shakes the bond that he and Obi-Wan share to its core, like an icy hand clenching in his chest. It's not _his_ blind panic and fear, it's Obi-Wan's, and Anakin freezes when his Master's strangled cry echoes over the comm., "_Anakin, _please! _Please, don't – I need you here, I –_"

A rush of images floods his mind, Dooku's face illuminated by a blood-red glow, the sharp twist of that lightsaber through his shoulder, then leg, and Anakin falling off the LAAT/i, over and over again _I don't care _–

Anakin gags, and his hand falls away from the controls.

No. No.

_Not again. Please, Anakin, not again –_

Obi-Wan probably isn't even aware that Anakin can hear it. It's little more than a panicked whisper, brushes the edges of his mind through the bond which has run cold with fear, but it's enough to make Anakin swallow and force his hand to switch off the hyperdrive.

"Disengaging hyperdrive unit," Anakin says shakily, and the strange starfighter disappears into the galaxy, "normal flight pattern reengaged. Target has made the jump to hyperspace; repeat, target is lost." There is a short pause, a breath of silence, and Anakin speaks directly to Obi-Wan: "I'm coming back now."

Obi-Wan doesn't answer, most likely ignoring him. For the rest of the space battle, their only communication is him barking out cold, impersonal orders.

For once, Anakin doesn't blame him.

* * *

It is barely three days following the disaster-turned-victory that was Muunilinst when they are called away to a concurrent battle.

On Dantooine.

The pit of Anakin's stomach drops when Windu debriefs him and Obi-Wan about this, boarding the _Negotiator_. He doesn't speak, simply listens in a daze. It's like the words don't want to make sense. Dantooine, of all places. The peaceful farming planet that barely touches the Outer Rim. _That_ doesn't make sense.

"It's an attempt to strike back at the Republic because of Muunilinst," Windu muses to Obi-Wan. "The CIS are using Dantooine as a staging point to launch an attack in response to our assault on the Banking Clan headquarters."

"There has to be more to it. Dantooine is hardly a planet of much strategic value – it's not as though there's a Republic base here."

"I sense Dooku has ulterior motives for staging this. Is it possible he is hoping uncover Rakatan artefacts?"

Anakin's hatred for Dooku increases.

"I wouldn't rule it out, but he won't have much luck. The Jedi AgriCorp colonies and archaeologists have already transported most of that stuff to Coruscant, and he'll never get to it there…"

Anakin zones out, unable to listen to much more of Obi-Wan's detached, emotionless discussion with Windu, and disappointment settles at the bottom of his stomach. Dantooine, although he will never admit it, holds a tender place in his heart. To know that this peaceful planet, rich with the Living Force and teeming with memories of him and Obi-Wan in the aftermath of Geonosis, has become a battleground for this disgusting war makes him want to sick up.

And Obi-Wan can barely muster more than calm conversation with Mace Windu. Surely, _surely_ this place means more to Obi-Wan than just a strategic battlefield? But no – Obi-Wan doesn't even so much as glance at Anakin, nor do his words or voice convey any feeling whatsoever for the fact that the place the two of them reconnected, managed to heal together, is about to be destroyed by the Separatists.

Perhaps it's silly than Anakin feels so deeply about this place – he's never been particularly connected to a planet before, mostly people. Tatooine was home because his mother was there; Coruscant was a place he enjoyed returned to after missions because he would usually be with Obi-Wan. Anywhere with Obi-Wan felt like home. But Dantooine – it is something different altogether.

…_despite the Code, against everything I know, I love you too. I always have, Anakin, and nothing can ever change that…_

Hurt swiftly morphs into irritation, so when Obi-Wan bids Windu farewell and finally notices Anakin, sullen and scowling with arms crossed over his chest, he approaches in concern. "What's wrong, Anakin?" he asks gently.

"Nothing," Anakin grits out, and Obi-Wan sighs.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't lie to me."

Anakin bristles in annoyance, wishing Obi-Wan wouldn't be so calm – wishing that Obi-Wan had snapped back a response, to give _Anakin_ a reason to start yelling. But something in the way Obi-Wan reaches out to touch his arm makes the frustration die down, and Anakin sighs as well. "It's just – you – Master, it's Dantooine," he says as though that explains everything. "How can you be so clinical? Doesn't…"

_Doesn't this place mean anything to you?_

Obi-Wan's eyes soften in understanding, hearing the unspoken question. "Contrary to what you may believe, Anakin, Dantooine is far more important to me than just another battleground."

Obi-Wan speaks as he has always done – clipped, cultured, controlled. Annoyingly casual, as if none of this bothers him. But for the first time that day, Anakin stares into his eyes, that amazing blend of blue and green and grey, and finds something that makes his heart leap. In Obi-Wan's eyes is a blaze of emotion, determination and tenderness, and through the bond the Jedi Master whispers _it's all right, Anakin. I know._

Then Obi-Wan looks away, breaking the suspended moment, and clips on his utility belt. "Come on, then. We haven't got all day."

This time, his casual tone doesn't infuriate Anakin nearly as much.

* * *

Pitting a small unit of the Grand Army of the Republic against a massive number of B2 super battle droids is a bit of a gamble, really, especially when they're outnumbered four to one.

The grassy plains are the chosen ground, soft blades of grass crushed beneath the clones' marching feet and the land ravaged by the droids' missile launchers. It's sickening to watch, and connected as he is to the Living Force, Anakin can feel everything – every time a Kath Hound gets caught in the middle of fire, every time a blba tree is cut down and destroyed by that disgusting droid army –

_Concentrate, Anakin!_

Obi-Wan's sharp reminder makes his eyes snap up in time to see a group of clones to the far left be annihilated with the blast of a missile. The sound of the explosion barely reaches his ears – all he can hear are the cut-off screams as bodies and limbs are strewn everywhere. A cry dies in his throat; the thought stays loud and clear: _these are men, innocent men, they don't deserve this –_

Another thought, a more horrid, Jedi-like one: _these are clones, and they are doing their duty. As should you._

The battle is not going well.

Mace Windu leads a small force, his ridiculous purple lightsaber raised high, and charges, backed up by the clones' PLX-1 portable missile launchers. A bastard he may be, but he's fast at cutting down droids with his fury-fuelled Vapaad style.

Anakin feels a bit useless, in all honesty.

The tide is slowly turning, it's obvious, even though they are hideously outnumbered and outgunned. But it's strange that the Force isn't feeling lighter, or letting him relax, which means –

_Oh shit –_

"Anakin –" Obi-Wan actually sounds _panicked._

"I see it."

A seismic tank. A _fucking seismic tank_. Are the Separatists completely out of their Force-damned minds? The tanks are used for mining operations – and now it's cutting through clone trooper ranks as though they're made of butter, either crushing them outright or sending soldiers flying through the air from the shockwave, shattering formation and scattering them.

At least, Anakin thinks a bit dully, it's taking out a contingent of its own forces.

Because of its massive size and slow movement, it should be an easy target for Republic artillery gunships – it _is_, except the Republic is completely unprepared for it. And damn, it's getting closer – the Force screams but it the warning is too late, Anakin tries to reach for Obi-Wan's hand –

Something smashes into his chest, knocking the breath out of him in one painful yet somehow numbing second. Someone yells in his ear.

Then silence.

Blackness.

His ears feel like cotton wool has been shoved into them. His body feels suspended. Is he breathing? He hopes he's breathing. Breathing would be useful. Strange, he can't see anything. Maybe his eyes aren't open. No, wait, they are. Everything just looks blurry now.

_Where…oh, battle. Yes, that's right. Dantooine?_

Yes, Dantooine. He's on Dantooine, in the middle of battle. Except he's lying down and doesn't particularly wish to get up. He's fairly comfortable – oh, hang on, he can't win this battle if he's sleeping. Should probably get up. Start fighting. The funny men dressed in white need his help. Clones, he thinks they're called. He wouldn't want to be a clone. Imagine another Anakin Skywalker running around the galaxy –

Anakin Skywalker. Jedi Padawan. Commander.

Oh. _Oh_.

Battle.

_War._

His hand is clutching something cylindrical, cold. _Huh. It's my lightsaber._

Somehow he'd managed to keep hold of it through the shock wave. Obi-Wan should be proud –

_Obi-Wan._

He feels dirt under his stinging hands and something wet on his face, and even as his body burns in protest he scrambles to his feet, helping up some unnamed clone with him, eyes desperately scanning his surroundings. "Obi-Wan!"

He can barely hear himself, the way his ears are ringing, and his vision is blurred and shaky, but he can somehow see or sense Obi-Wan, and he's so far away and he's _not getting up_ –

"OBI-WAN!"

Anakin could run over there now, but his legs aren't working yet. The shock from the seismic wave will take at least a minute for him to shake off, he's not running anywhere this second. His body aches but the adrenalin is more powerful, numbing him to any injuries he might have, and his mind is too occupied to think about it. Obi-Wan is too far away, cut off from rejoining Anakin for now. A group of clones looks at him expectantly, waiting for instructions as missiles and laser blasts fly.

_I am _so_ not cut out for this._

It would be easy to just tell the clones to follow him and help Obi-Wan, bring him back to the main battle or give him backup. Very easy.

He nearly does, but something holds him back. The clones are shuffling awkwardly on their feet, still waiting. The choice is very clear. If he goes back for Obi-Wan, they all might lose this battle – and Anakin doesn't like to lose. Anything, or anyone. Windu is good, but is he _that_ good?

It's the battle, or Obi-Wan.

Hardly a choice, really.

The bond comes alive, burning with Obi-Wan's voice. _Go, Anakin, just go!_

_Master –_

_I'll be fine – do your duty!_

Will he be fine? Will he really? He must have landed on his leg badly, he's in a pain, and there's only a second to decide, one decision that could change this battle's outcome, but – but –

_This is it. This is 'only when it's necessary'._

He feels sick.

Anakin ignites his lightsaber and turns towards the clones, determination set in his eyes. "Come on, men," he says grimly, "we have a battle to win."

He just wishes he doesn't feel like he's abandoned Obi-Wan once more as he fights his way through droids to join Windu. They acknowledge each other with a few grunts, as if both to say _just keep quiet and do your job_, but Anakin notices something strange very quickly.

"Where's your lightsaber?" Anakin demands rudely.

"It's been misplaced," Windu grinds out, and blasts back ten enclosing battle droids with a Force-wave.

"You _lost_ it?"

And Obi-Wan thinks _Anakin_ is bad –

"At least I didn't flush it down a toilet!"

"_THAT ONLY HAPPENED ONCE!_" Anakin screeches, and brutally bisects a droid to stop himself from turning on Windu with his lightsaber instead. As Obi-Wan repeatedly reminds him, killing Council Members will not help his chances of attaining Knighthood.

The Force becomes their most powerful ally now: Windu destroys many droids by punching them, sometimes disassembling the super battle droids and using its pieces to destroy others. Anakin immerses himself in lightsaber combat, desperate to keep his attention from straying back to Obi-Wan and the way he left him to fend for himself. Slash, parry, reflect – Windu pushes another wave of droids back with the Force –

_I left him. I left him behind, when I promised I wouldn't –_

Duty.

Sith-damned, Force-ridden, blasted, stupid, idiotic fucking _duty_. Five more droids explode.

He hates it. He doesn't care that Jedi shouldn't hate – he just does. He hates duty more than he hates the Sand People who killed his mother, more than he hates Dooku and he didn't think that could be possible –

But he will do it now. He will do his duty now, even if it kills him.

Then suddenly it doesn't matter anymore. The flash of a blue lightsaber joins Anakin's in the fight, its bearer grimly cutting down droids. Sweat shines on Obi-Wan's forehead and his face is covered in blood and dirt, but it's okay, it's all right, Obi-Wan is here, fighting alongside him and Windu, limping because he must have fallen on his leg but his hands are steady and his lightsaber is a blur of plasma blue, expertly reflecting shots. Their eyes meet briefly across the blades, and it is enough to reassure them both that they can do this. They're back-to-back now, sensing each other's moves through the Force and their bond – when Anakin turns left, Obi-Wan covers the right.

He's here. He's safe. And they will win this battle.

Amidst another seismic shockwave, Windu uses the Force to guide his way to the tank, and manages to retrieve his lightsaber. From the corner of his eye he can see Windu's ridiculous purple lightsaber cut its way into the machine. He disappears, and Anakin rolls his eyes to focus on taking out as many droids as he can with Obi-Wan while Windu plays hero for the day.

A good five minutes later, Windu soars out of the machine with a Force-assisted leap, and the tank begins to careen off-course. _Show off,_ Anakin thinks. _I could have done that in half the time he did._ Windu is out of its range now – the tank smashes into the ground, and Anakin barely has a second to scream out "DUCK!" to the clones before it explodes. Shrapnel flicks at his armour and face but he and Obi-Wan are far away enough from it to remain relatively unharmed. Windu has small cuts all over his face and his robes are ripped to shreds – he's never looked more undignified in his life – but silence descends over them all. Whatever remains of the droid army is quickly wiped out by the diminished clone forces, until all that is left is carnage, a small group of triumphant clones, and three battle-weary Jedi.

"Not bad for a man with a purple lightsaber," Anakin comments, and Windu slaps the back of his head sharply.

Obi-Wan just sighs.

* * *

Privacy is seldom these days, but cherished. Obi-Wan and Anakin have their own shared quarters on board the _Negotiator_. The flagship is admittedly large enough for them to have separate rooms, but neither Master nor Padawan brought this up.

"I'm very proud of you, Anakin," Obi-Wan says, tilting Anakin's head to the side to get a look at the deep cut on his cheek.

How long has he waited to hear those words? It feels like a lifetime and a half that he's wanted to hear Obi-Wan say that. Months ago, he would have smirked cockily, accepted the praise with conceit. Now it almost hurts to hear them, and Anakin winces at the words. "I wish you weren't," he says. "I left you behind today. I promised you I wouldn't, but I did. And –"

"You did it with only your duty in mind, Anakin. You were able to choose between my life and the fate of the battle in that crucial moment, and you chose well. _That_ is why I am proud of you."

He knows he should feel happy. He knows he should be grinning, repeating the words to himself, _I'm very proud of you, Anakin_, but he can't. Despite Obi-Wan's pride, everything he has ever strived for, despite the Republic's victory, Anakin doesn't feel proud of himself.

This, he realises, it what it means to be a Jedi – to be able to love without attachment. The ability to _leave_ the man he loves behind for the stupid, cursed greater good. It didn't feel like the greater good at the time, it still doesn't, even though he knows he choice he made was exactly what was expected of him as a Jedi. The right choice – duty first.

But just because he understands doesn't mean he has to like it. Anakin doesn't want to live in a world without Obi-Wan – refuses to even comprehend this. It's not a possibility.

Argh, grim thoughts. Time to change the topic. "You look tired," Anakin smirks, and Obi-Wan rolls his eyes.

"Oh, to be twenty-one again. Of course I'm tired, Anakin. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not exactly –"

"Stop it," Anakin orders before Obi-Wan can launch into one of his Woe-Is-Me-For-I-Am-So-Old speeches. "You _are_ young, Master. You're only thirty-six."

"Going on thirty-seven."

"I _told_ you t- _ouch!_ That hurt!"

Obi-Wan pulls the alcohol-soaked cloth back slowly, the barest hint of a smile dancing at the corners of his lips. "Well if you stopped moving around it wouldn't hurt as much."

Anakin pouts but lets Obi-Wan press the cloth back to his stinging cheek, dabbing carefully at the cut. The smile is still there, subtle but beautiful. Anakin brushes his thumb at the corner of Obi-Wan's mouth. "It's good to see you smile, Master."

Obi-Wan drops the cloth, reaching now for the jar of bacta. "There's precious little to smile at anymore," he says, eyes darkening, then looks away. "Oh, Anakin," he murmurs quietly with a sigh, "it's very hard to remember what being happy is these days."

It feels like his heart shatters in his chest when Obi-Wan says this, and words die on his lips.

When Anakin was a young boy, he used to love making Obi-Wan smile as much as he loved annoying him. It gave him a sense of satisfaction, importance, knowing that he had the ability to make the serious Jedi Knight's face light up. It was for the same reason he tried to push him to that edge – to force the long-hidden emotion and humanity to shine through. Usually it would be something simple, performing well in class or proudly showing off a droid he'd constructed. Early teen years saw him striving for Obi-Wan's approval and admiration, performing katas and lightsaber moves with perfect accuracy. His elder teen years were less ambitious – making Obi-Wan feel 'happy' simply meant not irritating him for a few hours at a time.

But after Geonosis, after those four months of healing and helping each other, Obi-Wan smiled again – laughed, even. And Anakin loved knowing that it was _he_ who could do that. War, unfortunately, seems to have destroyed his work. He wants to do nothing more than gather Obi-Wan in his arms and hold him tightly, but if he does that he probably won't let go.

Someone definitely needs to lighten the mood.

"Hey, wanna hear a joke?"

Obi-Wan rubs his eyes warily. "I get the feeling that even if I say 'no' you'll tell me anyway."

"What's the difference between an Incom T-16 Skyhopper and a pile of dead babies?"

Pause.

"I don't have an Incom T-16 Skyhopper in my hanger."

"That's disgusting, Anakin."

"You're smiling!"

"I most certainly am _not!_ That's not – that wasn't funny! At all!"

Obi-Wan tries very hard not to laugh, he really does, but Anakin starts to smirk himself and soon they're both gasping and wheezing, unable to keep upright anymore. Laughter fills the room and somehow Anakin is lying half on top of his Master, head pressed against his shoulder, and Obi-Wan's arm is wrapped around his waist. The laughter takes a long time to fade, eventually just leaving heavy breathing and smiles on faces. Obi-Wan's hand rises to brush against his cheek, trembling as it has done since Geonosis, and this time Anakin captures it in his own hand, holding it against his face until they both manage to drift into the first restful slumber they have managed to reach since Muunilinst.

* * *

Anakin gets up early the next morning and leaves before Obi-Wan wakes up to get something to eat.

Tragically, his Noble Quest is halted when he nearly slams into Mace Windu.

"Skywalker. With me."

Anakin shudders, and obediently trails behind the Korun Master.

"You conducted yourself well yesterday," Windu says in a strangely forced voice. "Your actions are to be commended."

Anakin wonders just how much pride Windu had to sacrifice to get that out. "Thank you, sir," Anakin says, mildly surprised.

"Are you feeling all right?"

Wow, praise _and_ concern. "No," Anakin says for the sake of it, just to see Windu's reaction.

"Why?" Windu demands.

Obi-Wan is right – Windu is a fucking terrible shrink. "I'm hungry."

Windu, as always, manages to look like he has a slab of granite shoved up his ass. "Skywalker, the right choice is not always the easiest one."

"…I just want some food," Anakin replies, mystified.

"I was referring to yesterday."

"Oh." The Obi-Wan vs. Battle choice. "Uh, in that case, I know. Thanks, though."

"Do you, now."

"I find your lack of faith disturbing."

Windu scowls. "Go and eat."

"You never tell me I'm beau–"

"SKYWALKER!"

* * *

The Battle of Dantooine was a battle which took place during the Clone Wars four months after the Battle of Geonosis, featured in episodes 12 and 13 of the _Star Wars: Clone Wars_ animated television series, originally aired on March 29, 2004 and March 20, 2004 respectively. It was a concurrent battle with the Battle of Muunilinst. Fought on the world's grassy plains, it pitted a small unit of the Clone Army against an army of battle droids four times their size. Clone casualties were overwhelming; however, with Mace Windu fighting with them, the tide slowly started to turn. The battle was turned upside down with the arrival of a seismic tank. In a shockwave, Master Windu lost his lightsaber and was forced to fight unarmed. The use of the Force he showed in the battle became legendary. After retrieving his lightsaber, he destroyed the seismic tank and won the battle.

In _From The Ashes_, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker are with Mace on Dantooine; instead of Muunilinst and Dantooine being concurrent, here they are portrayed as being one after the other. All three Jedi take the ground, however, Mace still loses his lightsaber and destroys the tank. As far as I am aware, this chapter does not use any dialogue from the actual episode this battle was featured in.

Some of you may have picked up on a particular toilet-flushing incident…for those of you who are interested, feel free to check out the fifth drabble from my _The Bane Of His Existence_ collection, entitled "This Weapon Is Your Life". It should explain a little…


	24. By Rite And Will

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Twenty-One –  
By Rite And Will

Returning to the Jedi Temple with Obi-Wan by his side fills Anakin with that wonderful feeling of _home_, though it is less about the physical place and more to do with Obi-Wan's presence. Eight months into the Clone Wars and four since he has been fighting sees a small reprieve in the constant assault. It is only for a week, perhaps even less, but the break is welcome.

The Clone Wars have been going…well, not _well_, but the Republic is ahead by just that little bit, and morale is lifting. Then again, in the grand scheme of things, the battles don't count. The thousands of lives lost in each bloody encounter with the Separatists mean nothing. It is only the final battle, whichever and whenever it will be, that will decide the fate of the Republic.

It makes Anakin feel sick.

Too much has happened in this last months for him to truly relax now, but he can try. Asajj Ventress has weighed heavily on both his and Obi-Wan's minds for the past few months. It hadn't taken long for Anakin to place her tainted Force Signature as that of the starfighter pilot in the space battle above Muunilinst when they'd first encountered each other on Dxun. The memory sours his mind – Dxun had been a miserable planet, constantly drizzling and damp and slippery with thousands of years of moss. Anakin remembers the bitter duel that ensued there with horrid clarity – twin blood-red blades, slashing at him from all directions and Obi-Wan on the other side of the battleground, nowhere in sight. She'd gotten away, seizing the Force and smashing it into Anakin's body faster than Anakin could defend himself. He'd been in a bacta tank for a week.

"Glad to be back?"

Wrenched from his thoughts, Anakin glances up at Obi-Wan's weary, but less strained face. "Yeah, I am," he replies honestly, and Obi-Wan rests a hand on his shoulder.

"Make sure you get some rest."

"I will, Master."

* * *

The first two days back at the Temple are spent tinkering with droids and speeders and catching up with friends he hasn't seen since before Geonosis – as well as receiving an invitation to dinner from the Chancellor.

Anakin declines it, and visits Padmé instead. He'd called ahead in the morning to let her know he'd be coming by later that day, although after C-3PO lets him in he gets the distinct feeling that Padmé might have forgotten…

"…don't regret what I had to do to save my people –"

"You don't regret putting a tyrant in the Chancellor's office?"

A chair scrapes and someone slams their hands onto a table. "Damn you, Finis Valorum!" Padmé's voice hisses, and Anakin hovers awkwardly in the doorway, thinking he perhaps should leave. "How dare you twist my words – that was completely uncalled for, and you – Anakin!" Padmé exclaims mid-sentence, finally noticing him. "What – oh, Stars, I knew I was forgetting something." She presses her hands to her head, face flushing in mortification. "I'm so sorry, Anakin."

"Is this a bad time? I can come back later…" Anakin offers, half-turning.

"No, don't go, Anakin. Valorum was just leaving," she adds on pointedly, directing her irritability towards Valorum.

Valorum grasps her arm and pulls her aside, murmuring in her ear. Anakin watches Padmé's face carefully, her expression melting from irritation to ashen resignation to irritation again. She whispers something back sharply, and Valorum releases her arm.

"Good evening, Senator Amidala," he forces himself to say, and nods at Anakin on his way out. No sooner than he leaves, Padmé kicks a chair.

"Argh!"

Anakin remains at a distance, unsure of what to do. "Padmé?"

"That man drives me utterly insane!" she groans and falls into the chair. "I'm sorry you had to witness that, Anakin." She blinks up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, struggling to keep back a yawn, and smiles. "Come here, I haven't seen you for months. I've missed you."

She holds out her hands and Anakin takes them, allowing himself to be pulled in to receive a kiss on either cheek. "I missed you too. How've you been, Padmé?" he asks, sitting beside her. She sighs, readjusting her silver headpiece.

"I'm well, thank you," she lies, smiling up at him with exhausted eyes, and for the first time Anakin is glad that he is actually fighting, and that he has nothing to do with politics if they have the ability to transform a vibrant young woman into looking like she has just been dragged off a battlefield herself. "I've been following you on the HoloNet, you know."

After indulging in some meaningless chatter (since neither wish to speak of the war in any shape or form, which doesn't leave much else to talk about) Anakin doesn't stay long, deciding that Padmé shouldn't be obliged to entertain him when she looks like she's about to pass out on her feet. She looks grateful for this, and rewards him with a hug and asks him to pass along a 'hope you're well' message to Obi-Wan.

_Poor Padmé_, Anakin thinks as he leaves, starting up his speeder. _I wonder what she's really up to. Maybe it's a good thing we're not in a relationship_…

* * *

On the fourth day back home, Anakin raids the Temple kitchen because Obi-Wan hadn't been in the apartment with dinner ready. He may be getting better at cooking, but he doesn't trust himself _that_ much yet.

"_Anakin,"_ Obi-Wan's voice crackles over the comm. link the moment he shovels a forkful of rice into his mouth,_ "the Council requires your presence immediately."_

Anakin swallows with difficulty and stifles a sigh. Another scolding, no doubt. What for this time he's not exactly sure (though he's hoping it's _not_ because Windu discovered that Anakin has rewired his speeder again), but he obediently replies, "I'll be right there, Master," and the comm. link clicks off.

Naturally, with various visions of Windu punishing him playing out in his mind and annoyed at having been pulled away from his meal, Anakin dawdles, delaying his arrival outside the Council Chambers by twenty minutes.

"You're late," Obi-Wan observes disapprovingly when Anakin finally gets there.

_Well spotted. _"If I'm late for another scolding, does it really matter?"

"Scolding?" Obi-Wan repeats, sounding surprised. "You're not a little boy anymore. But even if it were a scolding, I'm going to have to have a word with you about punctuality. As long as you're my student, you will heed my wisdom."

The words strike a nerve. After all this time, after all they've been through, is this how Obi-Wan still sees him? As his student, a subordinate, nothing more? But there is a mischievous gleam in Obi-Wan's eyes which stops Anakin from snapping back with the hurtful words on the tip of his tongue he knows he won't have been able to take back. Swallowing, he shifts on his feet, and lets the Force help his irritation melt into curiosity. He's trusted Obi-Wan this long, he can trust him now. "What's going on, Master?"

Obi-Wan just gestures, and doesn't answer. "Follow me, Padawan."

Anakin follows Obi-Wan through to the Chamber curiously – and starts in surprise to find the circular room darkened.

"Master…"

He nearly freezes in the doorway, heart pounding so loudly that all he can hear is it beating in his ears, but forces his feet to move at Obi-Wan's beckoning. Walking into the centre of the darkened all, surrounded on all sides by twelve hooded Jedi Council Members, he has to remind himself to breathe.

One by one, twelve lightsabers are ignited, blues and greens (and one purple) all angled towards the marble floor, humming in the silence that is broken only by Anakin's heavy breathing and the rustle of Obi-Wan's robe as he is handed something from Windu. Then he stands aside, and allows Windu to come forward to address the Council.

"We are all Jedi," Windu recites in his grave baritone. "The Force speaks through us. Through our actions, the Force proclaims itself and what is real. Today we are here to acknowledge what the Force has proclaimed."

"Step forward, Padawan," Obi-Wan says when Windu finishes. Anakin obeys and stands before Obi-Wan, and has to stop himself from shivering when Obi-Wan's hands brush against his neck, steadier than they have besen in eight months, and capture the braid. The ceremonial scissors glint softly in the darkness, reflecting the vibrant blues and greens and one purple of the Council Members' lightsabers.

"Anakin Skywalker, by rite of the Council, by the will of the Force, I dub thee, Jedi –" the blades close around the strands. _Snip_. "– Knight of the Republic."

Obi-Wan passes the scissors back to Windu, and in his hand is the braid that been a symbol of Anakin's apprenticeship to him for eleven years.

"Knight Skywalker," Obi-Wan says hoarsely, as if he's holding back tears, and the new title makes Anakin's heart leap, "I hereby present to you your Padawan braid." Obi-Wan presses the coil of hair into his palm. "It is yours to do with it what you will."

Now that he finally has it in his hands, after all these years of wondering what he'd do with it – maybe give it to Padmé, had their relationship survived, or kept it – he finally knows what do to. "I wish for you to have it, Master," Anakin replies, and gently takes Obi-Wan's hands in his own to pass the braid back, curling his fingers around it. "Without you, I would not be the man or the Jedi I am today. Thank you."

There is a stunned silence, and Obi-Wan blinks, startled. Anakin has not yet released Obi-Wan's hands, keeping them clutching the braid, as he slowly leans down and, before the entire Jedi Council, brushes his lips against his Master's – _former_ Master's. He feels Obi-Wan tense beneath his touch, though he doesn't jerk away or protest, and part of his mind is wondering what the hell he thinks he's doing but the feel of Obi-Wan's mouth under his and the scratch of his beard on his skin just feels right. It only lasts a second or two, not even. He pulls back, watching Obi-Wan's face carefully. His eyes are green today, wide with surprise, but there is no condemnation in them, just dazed wonder.

A number of Council members are frowning at this open display of affection, but Yoda looks strangely gleeful and Mace just rolls his eyes and grumbles to himself a bit when Anakin catches his gaze. "Take up your lightsaber, Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight," Windu says, the corners of his lips twitching suspiciously, "and may the Force be with you."

* * *

Anakin has always thought that becoming a Knight would hit him straight away.

Knight Skywalker.

_Knight_ Skywalker.

Him.

His hand hovers at the empty space beside his right ear. He feels naked without his Padawan braid.

"Anakin? Are you all right?"

"Yeah," he hears himself say. "It's just…I didn't even realise…my Trials. What were they? How did I…?"

"Rest assured, you passed them all exceptionally. The Trial of Skill – your duel with Ventress on Dxun, only last month. You fought like a seasoned Master, Anakin."

"I lost, though."

"The win or loss does not matter – it was the skill you displayed. The Trial of Flesh –"

"I haven't lost any limbs."

"Why are you so eager to convince me you haven't passed your Trials?" Obi-Wan's eyes are shining in amusement. "That particular Trial does not necessarily refer to the physical loss of an appendage. It can also test your mastery of detachment from people. The Battle of Dantooine. I knew, afterwards, what your actions meant."

Anakin bows his head. It doesn't matter what Obi-Wan says; he isn't proud of that day, for leaving Obi-Wan to help win the battle.

"The Trial of Courage – well, you've proved yourself beyond that these last four months. And the Trial of the Spirit."

Obi-Wan's hand touches Anakin's chin, gently forcing his face up so that he can meet his eyes.

"To pass the Trial of the Spirit, an apprentice must look deep within themselves on a quest of self-discovery. We both know beyond all reasonable doubt that you have long since accomplished that."

Geonosis, and Dantooine, again, but not a physical battle. It had been his own battle. "You helped me. I didn't do it on my own."

"I helped you, yes, but you equally helped me. It was your battle, Anakin. In the end, it could only really be up to you. It was, and you came out the other side." Obi-Wan smiles. "Do you believe me yet?"

"I guess so. It's just all so surreal."

"It'll take some time getting used to, but I have no doubt you'll embrace it enthusiastically once the daze wears off."

"Yeah."

They walk together through the Temple to their apartment, Obi-Wan still holding Anakin's Padawan braid and Anakin in contemplative silence. Naked as he feels without the comforting symbol of his place as Obi-Wan's apprentice, he can't be happier than seeing it in his Master's hands. It was always his, really, Anakin thinks.

"Hey," Anakin perks up before they reach the Kenobi/Skywalker complex, "I thought you said I'd be given the chance to swear a vow of celibacy at my Knighting."

Obi-Wan's eyebrows rise. "Why, would you like to go back and swear one?"

"What? _No!_ No, I was just wondering why it wasn't brought up."

"I told the Council beforehand that it was unnecessary for your Knighting."

"Oh."

"I hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all. If Windu had asked me if I wanted my balls figuratively cut off –" (Obi-Wan winces) "– I'd probably have spat in his eye."

"Yes, I worried you might do something like that. Now go and put on some nice robes."

"Why?" Anakin asks suspiciously.

"You'll see. It's another surprise."

"What surprise?"

"If I told you, it wouldn't _be_ a surprise, now would it?"

"_Master…_"

To his astonishment, he finds Obi-Wan's finger pressed against his lips gently. "Obi-Wan," he corrects with a smile. "I am no longer your Master."

"Obi-Wan," Anakin repeats. He has frequently called Obi-Wan by his given name in the past, when he was a Padawan, but there is something different about it now. He catches Obi-Wan's hand and holds it tightly, peering at him through heavy-lidded eyes. "You will always be my Master."

Obi-Wan doesn't try to pull away. "Your equal, too, I hope. I have never truly been your superior, only in name. You have often far surpassed me – and you have become a greater man and Jedi than I could ever hope to be."

Obi-Wan Kenobi: Modesty Extraordinaire. Anakin nearly rolls his eyes. "Forgive me for this, Obi-Wan, but you're being an idiot. If I'm as great as we both know I am –" Obi-Wan snorts at this, "– it's only because of your teachings."

"Thank you, Anakin," Obi-Wan says softly, obviously touched. "I truly tried to be everything Qui-Gon would have been for you –"

"You were your own person; all that he was and more. I couldn't have asked for a better Master."

Obi-Wan offers a watery smile. "Yes, well, I think I you ought to go and get changed so I can take you to your surprise before you make me cry."

"Again."

Obi-Wan sighs. "I just realised, I can't tug on your braid anymore." Anakin smirks. "Now hurry up or we'll be late!"

* * *

When Anakin realises that his surprise is being taken to dinner at one of the most exclusive restaurants in Coruscant, the Manarai, he nearly keels over at the knowledge that Obi-Wan must have spent at least two years' worth of his meagre Jedi stipend to book this evening.

The Manarai, everyone in Coruscant knows, is _the_ restaurant. Located in Monument Plaza in the Manarai Mountains, the restaurant is actually built int the wall of the mountains' highest peak, Umate. It is everyone's dream to dine at the place, but it is usually reserved specifically for the wealthiest and most powerful residents of the planet. In order to even actually _attend_ the restaurant bookings had to be made a month in advance. Obi-Wan must have been bleeding out of his eyes to plan this.

"Master, you shouldn't have –"

Obi-Wan just shakes his head, smiling. "Yes, I should have. Don't worry about it, Anakin. This is nothing less than what you deserve."

They are seated at a table which overlooks the vast expanse of Coruscant, the buildings in the distance bathed in the golden glow of sunset. Anakin shifts in his chair, feeling out of place surrounded by upper-class Coruscanti citizens and Senators and hoping that his robes are nice enough for the occasion, and Sith, he can't believe Obi-Wan has actually _done_ this –

"Relax, Anakin." Obi-Wan's amused, cultured timbre soothes his agitated strain of thought. "I haven't seen you this tense since…well, since that rather disastrous reunion with Senator Amidala nearly a year ago."

Anakin groans. "Please, don't remind me."

Waiting for their entre, Anakin starts eating a bread roll while Obi-Wan orders a bottle of Alderaanian wine. He waits until their glasses have been filled and the waiter to leave before asking a question which has been on his mind for a few minutes. "Master – Obi-Wan," Anakin corrects with a grin, "who…who Knighted you?"

There is a flash of pain across the bond which disappears faster than it happened. "Master Yoda," Obi-Wan says shortly.

"Did he cut your braid?"

"Anakin, I'd rather not speak of this now," Obi-Wan explains not unkindly. "This day is about you, and –"

"Please," Anakin says, grasping Obi-Wan's hand over the table. "I'd like to know. If it's all right."

Obi-Wan stares at the tablecloth for a suspended moment, unblinking, before looking up again, his eyes betraying nothing. He squeezes Anakin's hand back gently before revealing, "I cut my own braid."

There is something heartbreaking in this quiet admission, and Anakin can only blink in stunned silence. _Oh, Obi-Wan, even after all these years I still know so little about you._ Up until that moment, it had just…never occurred to him to ask.

"Yoda offered to do it for me, but…it was only Qui-Gon's right to do that. So I took up his lightsaber, and I cut it off myself. There was no ceremony, only an acknowledgement by the Council."

To know that Obi-Wan was deprived of a true Knighting ceremony with his Master, and subsequently denied himself of the honour of having his braid cut by any Master at all, makes Anakin feel cold, hurting for the young man who had lost a father-figure and was saddled with a boy he didn't really want in the same day. The realisation only just begins to hit him: to go through all that Obi-Wan did, at only a few years older than Anakin is now, and be shorn of his right as a Padawan to be Knighted by his Master – it's nothing short of amazing and agonising.

"What happened to it?" Anakin finally manages to get his mouth moving.

"I gave it to Qui-Gon. It was burned with his body."

When Obi-Wan reaches across the table to touch his cheek, Anakin can feel his face is wet.

"Please don't cry for me, Anakin," Obi-Wan says softly. "I don't regret it. It was so long ago, you needn't be upset. Back then…my only desire was to be Knighted by Qui-Gon. Obviously that was…not possible. But you – you gave me a purpose after that. To be able to Knight you today, Anakin – I barely have words to thank you enough. Just know that it was the happiest moment of my life, and that you have given me an extraordinary gift."

Anakin somehow knows Obi-Wan is talking about more than just the braid. It is halfway through a mouthful of bread that something occurs to Anakin, and the sudden fear grips him when he tries to swallow, making him choke on a piece. Obi-Wan starts in concern but Anakin waves him down, heart thumping almost painfully in his chest. "We're – we're not going to be separated now, are we?" Anakin stammers out. "Now that I'm a Knight…Force damn it, Obi-Wan, that's why you're doing all of this, taking me out to dinner." Anger and fear build upon one another in his chest, rushing out in one panicked stream. "You _know_ we'll never see each other again! Were you planning on telling me, or were you just going to cast me off –"

"Calm down, Anakin! You are causing a scene."

"I think I have a right to cause a scene if you –"

Obi-Wan chuckles, halting Anakin's anger. "Oh, Anakin, even after everything we've gone through you still shoot first and ask questions later. Are you even going to give me a chance to explain?"

"Um," Anakin manages to say, suddenly embarrassed, but Obi-Wan smiles.

"I am taking you out to dinner because I _wish_ to do so. _Usually_ we would be separated, but the Council has decided to keep us together for the duration of the war. We work well together, Anakin. Too well for them to split us up. The training bond will be broken in due time," he admits softly, and the aftertaste of bread sours in Anakin's mouth, "but for now, at least, it will remain. And you know what the HoloNet has been calling us."

"The Team."

"The Negotiator and the Hero With No Fear."

Anakin shudders at his moniker. "That's…a really bad name. Who's the genius who came up with that?"

"I think it was the paparazzi in general. It could be worse." Obi-Wan sounds far too cheerful for the comfort that he is trying and failing to give his former Padawan.

Anakin pouts. "How?"

"Well, they could have gone with my suggestion and called you the 'Hero With No Common Sense' –"

"What? Obi-Wan, you didn't!"

Obi-Wan just smiles and raises his wineglass. "To the Hero With No Common Sen– I mean, No Fear."

Anakin pretends to glare but eventually caves and raises his wineglass as well to touch Obi-Wan's, the soft chime humming in the air around them. "To The Negotiator," he replies, "and to The Team." And they both take a drink.

Dinner is by no means a quiet affair, most of the discussion revolving around Anakin's less-that-smooth-sailing Padawan years, resulting in some friendly arguing ("It did _not_ happen that way!" "It most certainly did, how dare you insinuate my memory is anything less than impeccable…"), a lot of laughter and a fair amount of wine. It's cute the way Obi-Wan's face flushes red and he chatters excitedly when he's a little tipsy. Even more amusing is the fact that he's barely halfway through his third glass while Anakin is still almost completely sober on his fifth – the man is notorious for not being able to hold down a drink. Anakin imagines that if he reaches across and touches Obi-Wan's cheek it will be warmer than an average day on Tatooine. So after dinner, when they are both walking back to the speeder (or in Obi-Wan's case, staggering slightly), Anakin ducks his head down and kisses the flushed cheek quickly before pulling his Master – _former_ Master – into a tight embrace.

"Thank you," Anakin whispers. Obi-Wan's fingers dance at the space where his braid used to be, eventually just settling his hand at the curve of Anakin's neck.

"M'so proud of you, Anakin," Obi-Wan mumbles into the younger man's shoulder, and Anakin grins.

"I'm proud of me too, Master."

"You were supposed to say 'thank you'. I think."

Anakin chuckles. "You're gonna have bad hangover tomorrow, Obi-Wan."

"No I won't. M'not drunk. I've only had…" Obi-Wan thinks about this for a moment, "two glasses."

"Three and a half."

"Oh."

Anakin snorts. "C'mon, Master. Let's go home."

"M'not your Master anymore…"

* * *

Anakin's Knighting was featured in the twenty-first episode of the _Star Wars: Clone Wars_ animated television series. The episode originally aired on March 21, 2005. Canonically, the Knighting occurred 30 months ABG (After the Battle of Geonosis); in _From The Ashes_ he is shown as being Knighted eight months into the Clone Wars to suit my own desired timeline and that of Karen Miller's 2008 _Star Wars: The Clone Wars: Wild Space_, for reasons which will become obvious in the next few chapters.

In the episode, the original dialogue in the prelude to Anakin's Knighting is here:

_**Anakin:**__ If I'm late for another scolding, does it really matter?_

_**Obi-Wan:**__ Scolding? You're not a little boy anymore. But as long as you're my student, you will heed my wisdom._

_**Anakin:**__ You're right, I'm not a little boy. And as far as your wisdom is goes, you're no Qui-Gon Jinn!_

Anakin's retort visibly hurt and saddened Obi-Wan, and Anakin immediately regretted his words and apologised. Obi-Wan forgave him and showed him to the darkened Council Chamber, where he was Knighted by Yoda who cut off his Padawan braid, and Anakin gave it to Padmé for safekeeping as a late devotion gift.

Some of you may have noticed that I altered the canon ceremony. For a detailed description of a canon Knighting ceremony, go to Wookieepedia and search "Knighting ceremony".

* * *

Sneak peek for Chapter Twenty-Two ("A Certain Point Of View III"):

"_No, I'm perfectly serious. Here, look – _The Secret Trysts of Kenobi and Skywalker_. It's quite graphic, too –"_

"Give me that!" _Anakin shrieks in mortification, lunging towards the book, but I duck under his arms._

"– _Has some rather explicit sex scenes involving you and Obi-Wan…"_


	25. A Certain Point Of View III

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas, and the writings of Karen Miller. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

The next seven or eight chapters are based on Karen Miller's _Wild Space_. I have drawn very heavily from her plots, descriptions, and dialogue and in a sense re-written the novel to fit into the _From The Ashes_ context. I have great respect for Karen Miller's works and I wanted to pay a respectful homage to her story while adding my own fanfiction twist to it. The basics of her novel remain the same; the finer plot details and characters have altered. On a more serious note of the same vein, I am aware of Karen Miller's feelings about Obi-Wan/Anakin romance in fanfiction and the last thing I want to do is disrespect her writings. All references to Anakin's and Obi-Wan's relationship in the following chapters are my own, drawn from the _From The Ashes_ context and not her work with _Wild Space_. That said, if you haven't read _Wild Space_ and you are an Obi-Wan fan, I highly recommend you check out the book!

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Twenty-Two –  
A Certain Point Of View III

"Senator Organa is unable to be with us today. It will be just the two of us."

_You could at least_ try_ to sound enthusiastic._

Five months and Finis Valorum is no less infuriating than he was at Cantham House. Although he has aged with distinction, he looks older than usual today. Though perhaps I should not be surprised – his cap of shorn silver hair recedes further by the month, and heavy pouches of restless nights hang under piercing blue eyes that never lose their intensity. The exhaustion, at least, is something I can relate to. I no doubt carry the same bags under my own eyes. Stern features and deep voice, which once belied a compassionate spirit and questing intellect, has been…not replaced, but joined by bitterness and disappointment.

So many dead. So many planets falling to the CIS – even more yet joining them. I can't complain, really. Five months of Finis Valorum pales dramatically in comparison to eight months of constant bloodshed and failing politics. He is as affected as I am.

"Still brooding about the deal with the Hutts, are you?"

Today must be a civil day between us, then. The deal was a small one, an agreement of sorts with Ziro. Nothing major, but it still feels like we're selling our souls to the devil. "No. What's done is done."

He shifts his attention to the screening of Palpatine's address to the Senate from only this morning. "Even so, it is regretful. The Hutts are criminals and slavers, the scum of the galaxy who don't care who they hurt and maim as long as they score a good money deal."

"But if making a deal with them keeps at least one Outer Rim hyperlanes free from CIS control, then…well, we can't afford to lose any more. We need those routes."

"We wouldn't _need_ to strike a deal with the Hutts if Palpatine had stopped this war before it had a chance to begin!" Valorum snaps, then sighs and listens to Palpatine's speech. "He continues to be more inspirational by the day," he mutters, half disgusted and half impressed. "As much as I loathe the man and his tyranny, he is undeniably intelligent."

"The Senate is losing faith in democracy," I respond, my lips barely moving. "He plays to the peoples' fears. They aren't confident about themselves anymore, and so give up their powers to him."

"And of course, _you_ know all about lack of confidence."

Why, that –

"That was quite unnecessary," I say coldly. So much for civility.

Valorum just raises an eyebrow, observing me coolly. "Was it? Perhaps. After all, I hardly believe it had been your idea to call for that vote. Was it?"

No. No, it hadn't been, but I believed it with all my conviction. I remember that day as clearly as I see Valorum before me now. That darn Lott Dod, stalling the proceedings with every tool he could find – so many objections, and now with all my experience I know that they were actually valid, as disgraceful as they were. Citing off senatorial procedures I had no hope of understanding at the age of fourteen. Mas Amedda, pulling the then-Chancellor aside, reminding him that Dod was within his rights.

_Enter the bureaucrats._ Palpatine, whispering in my ear. _The true rulers of the Republic, and on the payroll of the Trade Federation, I might add. This is where Chancellor Valorum's strength will disappear…_

And then Valorum turning back to me, and asking if I would defer my motion to let the committee do its work.

Proving Palpatine right.

Proving himself to be nothing more than the weak, inefficient leader of his reputation, despite my faith in him.

He _was_ ineffective, just as Palpatine had warned me. No matter that he was strongest supporter, no matter that he was just following the restrictive democratic procedure that I didn't understand at the time – I couldn't do anything else.

_I will_ not_ defer. I have come before you to resolve this attack on our sovereignty now! I was not elected to watch my people suffer and die while you discuss this in a committee. If this body is not capable of action, I suggest new leadership is needed. I move for a Vote of No Confidence in Chancellor Valorum's leadership._

"I don't regret what I had to do to save my people –"

"You don't regret putting a tyrant in the Chancellor's office?"

Before I know it, I've pushed my chair back so loudly it scrapes and my hands slap down onto the table. "Damn you, Finis Valorum!" I hiss. "How dare you twist my words – that was completely uncalled for, and you – Anakin!"

How long has he been standing there for? What is he even _doing_ here? Forget that, how much has he _heard?_ Hopefully whatever he has heard will mean nothing – he just looks bewildered and uncertain.

"What –" I start, then nearly slap myself. I invited him over this morning, didn't I?_ Padmé, you idiot_. "Oh, Stars, I knew I was forgetting something." I press my hands into my face, trying to hide the flush of embarrassment. "I'm so sorry, Anakin."

This isn't like me at all. Padmé Amidala does not _forget_ things. This war and my part in this Loyalist Committee is, for lack of a more dignified word, screwing with me.

"Is this a bad time? I can come back later…" Anakin offers, half-turning to leave, but I stop him. I don't particularly care for company at the moment but I would much rather be with Anakin than Valorum.

"No, don't go, Anakin. Valorum was just leaving," I add on pointedly, directing my irritability towards the man in question. Valorum's expression reveals nothing – all he does is grasp my arm and pull me aside to speak so Anakin can't hear.

"This is _not_ over, Senator Amidala. We have too much to discuss," he murmurs. I feel my own face fall. He's right – there's far too much to leave hanging, but there's no way we can continue now. "I will return tomorrow."

I am _sick_ of him inviting himself over. "If you feel the need to return, I suggest you do so by bringing some manners with you!" I whisper back harshly, irritation returning. Valorum blinks and steps back, releasing my arm.

"Good evening, Senator Amidala," he forces himself to say, and nods at Anakin on his way out. The moment the door closes behind him, I lose whatever self-control I have left and kick the chair he had been sitting in.

"Argh!"

And now my foot hurts. Poor Anakin remains at a safe distance, clearly worried with my behaviour. I don't blame him – if I were him, I'd be worried too.

"Padmé?"

"That man drives me utterly insane!" I groan, and collapse into a chair. "I'm sorry you had to witness that, Anakin." I blink up at him through tired eyes, and struggle to hold back a yawn. I hadn't realised just how tired I am. Too much work and stress and not enough sleep, according to Dormé. I force a smile onto my face. "Come here, I haven't seen you for months. I've missed you."

At least this I am honest about. I _have_ missed him – I hold out my hands for him and he takes them, allowing me to draw him in to kiss him on either cheek. He might have made a terrible lover but at least he is always genuine with me, always so admirably friendly. Some part of me will always love him. It was inevitable.

"I've missed you too. How've you been, Padmé?"

His blue eyes are wide with concern, and I sigh as I readjust my heavy silver headpiece. "I'm well, thank you." A lie. How can _anyone_ be well after a session in the Senate, followed immediately by _that_ disastrous meeting with Valorum? But at least I am not out there where he is, risking my life daily. I feel terrible for thinking that – the whole 'better them than me' argument – but I have a responsibility here and I'm hardly a trained fighter. "I've been following you on the HoloNet, you know…"

* * *

"For someone so intelligent, your naivety is bordering on the edge of stupidity."

Trust him to compliment me and insult me in the same breath. I'm so tired I don't even remember what he's replying to. It's game between us. Two steps forward, one step back – sometimes only one step forward for every two back. And he certainly hasn't brought his manners with him.

The heavy ornate headpiece I chose to wear today isn't helping my headache. Perhaps I ought to stop wearing the horrendous things altogether – my hair looks fine when it's down. I blink at Valorum stupidly, torn between hitting him and tearing off the weight on my head to ease the constant throb. Or maybe I can do both at the same time, and throw the headpiece at him.

"How long have you experienced its whims and passions and corruption? Too long to have learnt _nothing_ – are you being purposely obtuse? This isn't _about_negotiations anymore, this is about _Palpatine_ and his control of the Senate, and ultimately the war! This war is not a result of a failure to listen, it is a result of the powers being horded by Palpatine!"

"I know!" I snap."I _know_, all right? Why don't you just come out and say it?"

"Say what?"

"That this is my fault. All of it."

It's what he's been thinking the moment he came back into my life, or the moment I came back into his; none of this would have happened if I hadn't moved to get rid of him as Chancellor. Valorum frowns, sighing a bit. "Senator Amidala…"

What, does he think to _deny_ it now? To say, _no, actually, it isn't, I just enjoy making your life hell_ – well darn him and his excuses and whatever else of his, I don't care if he doesn't believe that it's my fault because it's what _I_ believe, everyday in the Senate, watching my political mentor turn into something that subverts the name of democracy in such a disgusting manner –

"It _is_ my fault! He manipulated me!I trusted him, and all I wanted to do was save Naboo, and you – you didn't _do_ anything, I trusted _you_ to help me but you –" I'm crying. I can't believe it. I'm collapsed on a chair in front of Finis Valorum, and I'm _crying_, pathetic sobs and hitching shoulders. "H-he manipulated me. I allowed myself to be manipulated, and – oh, Stars, what have I _done_ – I _put_ him there, and now he's –" Now he's becoming a tyrant, and the Republic is crumbling before my eyes.

"You wanted to save your people, so you did it the only way you knew how," Valorum says gently, explaining my own actions. "Unfortunately, your patriotism was greater than your respect for democracy."

When was the last time I ever heard his voice so genteel? That day on the landing pad, when he'd personally come to greet me after making it to Coruscant from Tatooine. A low, cultured timbre.

I sniff. "The Courts would have taken too long," I murmur, trying to justify myself to him. "How could I respect _that_ part of democracy? My people were dying. _You_didn't move fast enough."

"I was only following standard Republic procedure. A distasteful one, yes, but standard. You were young and impatient, perhaps rightfully so. By the time the Courts made their decision it may have been too late for your people altogether."

"Damned if you do, damned if you don't."

"Quite." His hand settles on my shoulder, warm and comforting, and a handkerchief is held out before me which I gratefully take. "Oh, Padmé," he says tenderly, sounding not like the embittered man of a few moments ago but the compassionate Chancellor he once was. "The Senate was no place for a girl of fourteen, no matter how mature you were. You knew nothing of the nature of politics, and Palpatine used that against you to use against me."

He's right, of course. He usually is. It wasn't my fault. It's silly and unproductive to try and bear that responsibility. _I'm_ not the one gathering dictatorial powers. I just helped the man who is. Unintentionally. _Innocently_.

"I'm hardly going to accuse you of being in cahoots with Palpatine. Unless there's something you're not telling me."

Through his wry tone, absolution flows through the words. I laugh weakly and shake my head, sniffling again and dabbing at my eyes with the kerchief.

"At any rate, my popularity was rather poor at that stage," Valorum continues. "Even if you had not called for a Vote of No Confidence, it would only have been a matter of time after that. Palpatine…he is clever. Even then, he was clever. He betrayed me, too. I had always thought of him as a friend, but power, they say, forces a man to reveal his true colours."

"If that is so, why can only so few see it? Bail sees it. Mon Mothma can see it. A know a few other Senators are wising up to what Palpatine is doing but the others…"

"Fear," Valorum reminds me. "But that is not the issue at stake here. Have we finished discussing your role in Palpatine's ascension to power yet?"

Ah, there he is. I was wondering what happened to the snark. "Why don't you call me an idiot one more time, just to be sure?"

Valorum laughs, then quickly sobers. He doesn't ask for the kerchief back, not that I would hand over the sodden thing anyway. "This war…" he says, looking troubled once more. "This war is, as its base, an ideological conflict. But it could have been ended long ago. I fear Palpatine is purposely refusing to open negotiations in order to prolong it, to gather Senatorial powers."

It's nothing neither of us haven't thought before, but it hasn't yet been said so bluntly, where there is no room for interpretation. It's dangerous. If this continues, we will both pass that point of no return. I don't know if I'm ready for that. "Do you have any idea what you are insinuating? _Accusing?_"

"I do."

"It will be treason, Valorum."

"And yet you are not nearly as horrified as you should be."

And that is the crux of the issue. I'm not. This is the point I've been dreading, but at the same time I am strangely…excited, to be breaking the rules. "But there is no _evidence_. Without it, how can we –"

"Then we will _find_ it. There is no such thing as a perfect crime."

I stop fighting.

No return.

* * *

A month in discreetly searching for evidence about Palpatine's motives take us nowhere. Either Palpatine is completely innocent of everything Valorum has accused him of, or he really has committed the perfect crime. I'm starting to think Valorum is wrong – not about Palpatine. I don't doubt that. About there being no such thing as a perfect crime. Because if there is a perfect criminal, it is Palpatine.

"Oh, Padmé," Dormé sighs, her fingers running through my hair. "You are working yourself into the ground. It's that Finis Valorum, isn't it? What in the galaxy is he making you do?"

"He's not _making_ me do anything. It's by my own choice," I reply. Finis has become much more bearable these days; sometimes I actually look forwards to the meetings. The tension is gone, replaced by something sharp. I never used to be one for witty banter. "And don't tell me I need a holiday because I don't, and even if I did –"

"– You wouldn't take it," she finishes predictably. "I know you far too well, milady."

Her hands continue to sooth me, untangling the elaborate style of the day to delicately twist it into a long and simple braid.

"You know…" Dormé comments, breaking the short silence, "you don't have to take a holiday. All you need to do is relax a bit, at least before you go to bed. I know you haven't been sleeping well lately. You're far too tense. I remember a Padmé Amidala who was not so quick to anger and was gentle in every situation."

I remember her, too. A simpler time. A _happier_ time. I wish I could be her again, the delicate but strong young and innocent Senator from Naboo. I don't think I like who I am these days.

"Forgive me for saying so, but perhaps you need a conductive outlet for your frustration –"

"Dormé, if you dare imply that I should vent my 'frustration' on that disgusting toy Sabé sent me a few weeks ago, I'll –"

"Actually, milady, I was speaking of a book."

A book? Books aren't common these days – at least not in traditional paperback. Holobooks have taken over, not that I have much time to read anyway. I sigh. "Dormé…"

"It is an easy read, milady. Nothing strenuous. Just a few pages a night. You'll enjoy it."

I give up. "All right. What is it?"

Dormé disappears from behind me, and I hear her rifling through her belongings. "I found it a lower level bookshop and I saw the title and I thought, since you're close to both Master Kenobi and Knight Skywalker, that it might be of interest to you…"

She passes it to me and I stare at the cover.

There are few words to describe how jarring it is to see your former lover's body entwined in a carnal embrace with his former Master's. "_The Secret Trysts of Kenobi and Skywalker_," I read aloud, trying to ignore the explicit sexual act illustrated on the cover. "By Lustoria Tempté, author of _Seducing Senator Organa_. You can't be serious."

Dormé giggles uncharacteristically and leaves the room suspiciously quickly. The blurb proudly proclaims that I will be left breathless with every page, and I quickly scan the 'praise' for _Seducing Senator Organa_ (poor Bail, I hope Breha hasn't seen it).

"_Incredible – simply incredible! Ladies, you will never again think of Sexator Bail Organa in the same way. Another remarkable novel by Lustoria Tempté."_

Oh, dear Force, what _have_ I been given? I should throw it away, possibly out of the window to follow Anakin's long-gone clothes to a plummeting death. Still, I wonder…Out of sheer curiosity, I open the book at a random and read from the top of the page.

_slammed into the younger man's ass, tearing a pleasured scream from Anakin's throat as he struck his sweet spot. Obi-Wan grunted against Anakin's neck and pulled out slowly, leaving Anakin whimpering at the loss, but thrust back in to encase his throbbing, weeping cock deep inside his lover's welcoming body, once more hitting –_

"DORMÉ, HOW IN THE NINE HELLS OF CORELLIA IS THIS LESS INAPPROPRIATE THAN A VIBRATOR?"

* * *

I finished the book.

I couldn't help it. It's probably the funniest and most disgusting thing I have ever had the misfortune of reading.

(And I might have gone on to read _Seducing Senator Organa_.)

I'm not sure which one is worse, to be honest, although that's the least of my worries. I just don't know how I am ever going to be able to look at Bail or Obi-Wan in the eye again.

* * *

The next meeting is supposed to be serious.

I try to retain my composure, I really do, but it was a mission doomed before it was even formed. I take one look at Bail and double over with shrieking laughter.

"What? What is it?" Bail exclaims self-consciously.

"S-Sexator…Organa…" I choke out, and Valorum raises an amused eyebrow.

Bail's face darkens. "As soon as I find out who Lustoria Tempté is, I'm suing," he grumbles.

"I get the distinct feeling I am missing something."

Bail groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Lustoria Tempté, a pathetic trashy novel writer who has practically redefined pornography. Wrote some monstrosity called _Seducing Senator Organa_ last year. My wife made me sleep on the couch for a month until I could convince her that I'm not having raunchy homosexual affairs with pirates all over the galaxy…I was the laughing stock of the Alderaanian court…"

* * *

Another month later and still no progress. There is nothing – _nothing_ – that ties Palpatine to the attack on Bail's flagship last week, nothing that ties him to King Veruna's death, nothing that ties him to deliberately ousting Valorum from the Chancellor's office aside from my part in the drama. Nothing that indicates Palpatine has less than honourable intentions in regards to the powers the Senate gives him on a nearly daily basis.

Nothing.

If I was frustrated before, I'm far beyond that now – I'm not a destructive person by nature, but sometimes it just feels _good_ to destroy a datapad or two. Thankfully Anakin, as always, is a welcome distraction. Not just because the potential to throw his clothes out the window is there, of course.

His hair has grown out again since his Knighting, free of the nerftail at the back and his Padawan braid. I really do prefer this look on him – rugged, matured, no longer the lanky boy I fell in love with on Naboo, but now a man, chest broadened and firmer than before, whom I remain dear friends with. But he's also lost that innocence. War has hardened him. Or maybe he's never been innocent, and I wanted to see something that wasn't there. Anakin was born a slave, grew up as a slave, witnessed horrors during his Padawan years that I can only begin to imagine, held his mother as she died, learned duty the hardest way one could. Of course he wouldn't be innocent, but war has destroyed whatever innocence was left. He's definitely no longer a boy.

"…so then I told him the Skyhopper joke – you know, the dead baby one –"

Then again…

He's sprawled out on my bed in full Jedi garb, the beige colour scheme he's been wearing for the past six months. He needs to be careful now with those – chee-chee berry stains are very hard to get rid of, and he's not the most delicate of eaters. I'm beginning to suspect that the _only_ reason he wore dark clothes was to hide food stains.

It's been two months since he was here last – I think he's only here for a few days again, but I intend to make the most of them. If there's one thing one person is capable of doing, it's Anakin who can make me laugh. I don't have to be the Senator with him. There is rarely a distinction between _Padmé_ and _Amidala_ – I am her. She is me. Anakin has a hard time connecting the two women, but I am both. Today, I'm happy to be Padmé for him. Heavens know _I_ need the break.

"More chee-chees, my darling?"

Anakin stares up incredulously at my smirking face, ignoring the stem of luscious purple berries dangling before his lips. "…Did you get that line out of a trashy holonovel?"

He laughs and flings his arms around me when I am completely unable to stop myself from giggling guiltily.

"You did! You did, didn't you!"

"And how would _you_ know that, Knight Skywalker, if you didn't read them yourself?" I manage to gasp out through peals of laughter. "Oh, that reminds me! Did you know that there are trashy novels written about _you_, Knight Skywalker?"

Anakin's face pales. "You're not serious," he says uncertainly, releasing me from my hold.

"No, I'm perfectly serious. Here, look –" I reach across his body to open my bedside table draw, and hold up my copy of the book, the picture of him and Obi-Wan sexually engaged glaring on the cover. "_The Secret Trysts of Kenobi and Skywalker_. It's quite graphic, too –"

"_Give me that!_" Anakin shrieks in mortification, lunging towards the book, but I duck under his arms.

"– Has some rather explicit sex scenes involving you and Obi-Wan, a bit of mutual masturbation and BDSM, and some very romantic and angsty scenes where you two are confessing your love, late at night, in a tent as the rain pours down around you –"

"_Padmé!_"

I open the book, ignoring his valiant attempts to stop me. "Allow me to read you some: _'Master – Obi-Wan, I love you so much, baby,' Anakin gasped through breathy moans, his almost painful arousal pressing down on Obi-Wan's answering hardness. 'Oh, Anakin, my darling Padawan,' Obi-Wan groaned and pushed his hips upwards, eliciting a bone-breaking shudder from Anakin when their lengths slid against each others', pre-come leaking from the heads of their erectio–_EEK!"

He tackles me onto the bed. "Stop it, I know, now give it here!"

"You _know?_"

Anakin wrenches the depraved thing away and tosses it to a far corner of the room.

"Anakin Skywalker, don't tell me you actually _have_ read _The Secret Trysts of Kenobi and Skywalker_?"

He blushes. "It – I –"

Oh. My.

"_Star's end, you have!_"

"I was just curious!" he wails in defence. "I saw my name and I wanted to know what was being written about me. I didn't think people actually wrote…_that_ kind of stuff. Or that it was published. Or that people read it." His eyes narrow suspiciously. "Why do _you_ have it, Padmé?"

I smirk triumphantly. "Dormé gave it to me as a joke last month. She said I looked upset and needed some cheering up." It worked, but I don't tell Anakin that.

"Oh." Anakin sniffs. "Yeah, well. It's all a load of tosh anyway. Jedi aren't allowed to fall in love, least of all with each other, and Obi-Wan is far too classy to scream dirty words in the middle of an orgasm. And it's completely unrealistic – I mean, I don't think it's physically possible to come twelve times in a row. Not that I've, uh, tried. Or anything." He's so cute when he rambles. "Besides, Obi-Wan's sworn a vow of celibacy, so it's not like –"

"He _what?_" I sit on the edge of the bed feeling like someone has punched me in the gut. "He's – he's not allowed to…oh."

Obi-Wan is celibate. _Celibate_. I know he's possibly the most perfect Jedi in existence, but for a man like him to be celibate, of all things…

"Yeah, not since he was twenty-five. What do _you_ care?"

"I care because Obi-Wan is a very attractive man, and while I'm not saying I would actually have sex with him –" not that I hadn't occasionally considered it in the past, "– it's just disappointing to know that he is _completely_ unreachable!"

Anakin struggles with himself a bit, clearly not finding the image of myself and Obi-Wan in a more-than-friendly embrace to be particularly tasteful. He flops back onto the bed and I crawl up beside him, resting my head on his shoulder when he pulls me up. It's nice, just to lie like this for a few moments. If I close my eyes I can almost pretend that there is no war, that I'm not Senator Amidala, that Palpatine is an honourable man…that I have someone here for me, beside me…a friend. A husband. A lover.

Someone.

"Hey, Padmé?"

"Mmm?"

"D'you ever wonder what it could have been like? If…"

I sigh. There's no need for _that_ question to be completed. "Sometimes," I reply honestly. "I think…we'd still be hopelessly in love…"

"We'd probably be having sex right now."

I kick his shin and he mock-cries. "Well, we most certainly wouldn't be reading trashy homoerotic fiction about your former Master and my would-be husband –"

"I don't _read_ them, I just scanned through one to see what it was about!"

"Well, if telling yourself that helps you sleep at night…"

Anakin pouts, but I'm pretty sure that expression stopped working on everyone except Obi-Wan once he passed the age of twelve. "I think I liked you better when you were in love with me."

I think I liked me better when I was in love with him as well. "How is Obi-Wan?" I ask, wanting to change the subject.

It works. Anakin shifts, his expressions ranging from affection to concern flitting across his face too quickly to decipher all of them. "He's…it's hard to tell sometimes," he admits. "I think he's doing okay at the moment. We needed the break. Him especially. We're very relieved to be back on Coruscant. It's…really hard on him, out there. You know what he's like, he can't stand the bloodshed. He doesn't smile as much anymore, or laugh…when he's upset he just shuts down and meditates. Today…I don't know what happened today. We sparred and then he got all weird and ran off. He's fully recovered though," Anakin adds, brightening. "Well, almost. His leg sometimes plays up on him, but aside from that he's…fantastic."

I wonder what happened to 'he's holding me back' and 'he's jealous of my power'. "You really look up to him, don't you?"

"It's more than that. He's…he's smart, and funny, and he's my best friend…yeah I look up to him, but he treats me like an equal. I'm not just his former Padawan. We're…we're _the team_." He glances over at me, cheeks tinged pink and a wide grin, and a pang of – regret? Jealousy? – hits me. He's never looked so at peace, so_content_. The intensity of his passion is all still there, but it's not all-consuming. He's not _dangerous_, to himself or others. Not anymore.

Because of Obi-Wan.

Would I have been able to soothe those fires, had our relationship survived? Or would I have fuelled them?

"Padmé?"

I force a smile onto my face. I seem to be doing that a lot around Anakin. "That's wonderful, Ani."

It is wonderful. It _is_. It's wonderful that Obi-Wan has given Anakin something I couldn't, and never can. It's wonderful that I'm not just his distraction, or he mine. Anakin and I may have been in love – still would be, if we'd allowed it – but Obi-Wan is his soul mate, as cheesy as that sounds. But it's true. I can't be what Obi-Wan is to Anakin.

Anakin has Obi-Wan now. Always did.

And I…well, I guess I still have _Secret Trysts_ to keep me company.

Okay, so that's not _completely_ true. I have…dear Force, I can't believe I'm thinking this, but I have Finis. Despite our initial differences, he's become a good friend.

I leap up from the bed. Finis. Reality, as always, makes an unwelcome appearance. He'll be coming over again tonight, with Bail as well. I have to get everything ready.

"Hey, come back!"

"I can't, Ani, I have to get ready for a meeting tonight."

"Tonight is _ages_ away. Talk to me a bit more. Please?"

He holds out his hand but instead of letting him pull me back down, I try to pull him up with a laugh. "You know I'd love to, but I _can't_."

"When will I see you again?" he asks, grabbing his boots and tugging them on.

"Tomorrow, around midday?" I guess. "I don't know how long tonight's meeting will go for, but afterwards I have a dinner with the Malastarian cultural commissioner and in the morning another Senate session."

I pause and listen to myself. Mother was right, I _am_ going to work myself to death. But how can I not? As tired and exasperated as I am, I still love it. I still _do_ it, because without it, I don't know who I'd be. I went into politics, became a Senator, because I wanted to make a difference, and still do. That's something Anakin would never understand.

Anakin winces. "A meeting, a dinner, _and_ a session in the Senate? My deepest condolences."

Point proven.

"Political talkfests like that are so –"

"Tedious?" I suggest playfully when he breaks off, looking distant. "Yes, I suppose." They are. But it's my life, my choice. "At any rate –"

"Hush," he murmurs, pressing a finger to my lips to silence me. "Hush, Padmé. Something's – something's not right…"

He trails off, eyes widening a split second too late. A flash of light – a shocking series of _booms_ – and the apartment shakes. We're thrown to the carpet, pain stunning my arms when I brace my fall. Anakin is sprawled beside me, and the shaking stops. I scramble to my feet, heart pounding painfully in my chest, and I rush over to the veranda. A pillow of smoke, leaping fires –

_We've been attacked._

I'm so far away from it all. It happened so quickly – if I'm looking at the carnage now, I'd be convinced that nothing happened at all. Just a second ago I was having fun with Anakin. Just a second ago everything was _fine_, and _normal_. Four separate explosions, so far away and yet so close by. I can see the damage from here. I can see the places destroyed. I don't know what to be feeling. Shock, I suppose. Maybe fear, anger. Grief. I feel none of that. There's a distance sense of horror but it hasn't made itself known yet. It's too surreal.

_We've been attacked. Coruscant has been attacked._

"The Administration Sector," I hear myself say, voice taut. "The Central Court. The Court of Appeals. And I think – I think – the Senate overflow offices."

That's it, be a politician. Don't worry about the hundreds or thousands who have been caught in those four explosions, just think about your precious _politics_.

I spin around to find Anakin, on his knees and slumped in the middle of the floor, and I see my face reflected in his. Pale, ashen, terrified, looking everything I can't let myself feel yet, but it's different with him because he actually _does_ feel –

"_No! No!_"

I'm at his side in a flash, grabbing his hands which are tearing at his hair and face. "What? What is it?"

He stares at me, eyes wild. "I have to go, I have to go _now_ – oh Force, oh no –"

"Anakin –" He's scaring me but I can't stay to help him. I have to go as well. The Senate will need me, Finis will want to contact me –

But Anakin's voice chills me to the core.

"It's Obi-Wan," he breathes, eyes dark and haunted. "Obi-Wan's hurt."

* * *

So. Um. Who wants to have a go at designing the cover of _The Secret Trysts of Kenobi and Skywalker?_

On the absence of Ahsoka Tano: Ahsoka, as many of you know, becomes Anakin's Padawan during the Battle of Christophsis, featured in the 2008 _Star Wars: The Clone Wars_ film. She is also featured in Miller's _Wild Space_ as Anakin's Padawan to coincide with the canon _Star Wars: The Clone Wars: Season One_ CGI television series, in particular episodes 6 and 7, "Downfall of a Droid" and "Duel of the Droids" respectively. _Wild Space_ breaches the canon timeline twice – the first of which being Anakin's Knighting. Miller placed Anakin's Knighting at only 4 weeks ABG as opposed to canon 30 months ABG. I placed his Knighting at 8 months ABG, which was strategically chosen to fit in with both _Wild Space_ and the canon timeline. The second breach of canon timeline is the Mission to Zigoola itself, and its counterpart the Battle of Bothawui – according to Miller, the Coruscant Bombings and the Battle of Bothawui occur 10 months ABG with Anakin as a Jedi Knight, but other battles such as the Battle of Jabiim occurs, according to canon, 14 to 16 months ABG, and Anakin is portrayed as still being a Padawan. Furthermore, Miller also writes as though the Battle of Christophsis and the Battle of Teth have occurred prior to 10 months ABG, but again this is a breach of former continuity. The battles of Jabiim, Christophsis, and Teth have not occurred yet in _From The Ashes._ So for now, while I write with my own constructed timeline, Ahsoka isn't in the story. That's not to say she won't be, though!

* * *

Sneak peek for Chapter Twenty-Three ("Free Fall"):

"_It doesn't…hurt…anymore. I c-can't feel anything."_


	26. Free Fall

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

Again, apologies for the wait! However, I did make deadline…_and_ this chapter is just over 13, 000 words! Took a lot out of me, this one did. I almost split it up into two sections but I thought it worked better in one chapter. I hope you all enjoy it!

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Twenty-Three –  
Free Fall

Obi-Wan sighs, eyes scanning the Jedi duelling in the training salle from the stands, unseeing. They've been granted another small reprieve from the constant bombardment, a week maybe. Not even. But it's enough to finally take a moment to breathe, and think. The last two months can be contemplated in the safety of the Jedi Temple, but strangely it is not the battles that weigh on his mind. It's Anakin. It's not a bad thing, he doesn't think. Anakin has been on his mind a lot lately. Always has been, but now more so than usual. It makes sense, of course. They are a team. They are _the_ team. Out there, on the battlefield or in space, while they have the Clones (Captain Rex and Commander Cody in particular), they ultimately have each other. Always at each other's backs. Even when they're not fighting, and they're resting for the night, Anakin's there with him. Same quarters, or tent. Sometimes the same bed, if it's cold.

Anakin has become far more than just his former apprentice. He sometimes still calls him 'Master' from time to time, but they are no longer teacher and learner. He has long surpassed Obi-Wan's abilities, proving himself over and over again, and Obi-Wan may be sixteen years older than him but they have become men together. They are equals now, in every way – closer than friends, closer than brothers. War has matured him and strengthened their relationship.

"Sometimes I wish I knew what goes on in that mind of yours, Obi-Wan," Anakin says, easily slipping past the barriers of his reverie as he approaches, flushed and sweaty. "What are you thinking about?"

Obi-Wan doesn't speak yet. A long moment later finds his hand resting on Anakin's damp cheek and the loud buzz of voices fades into the background. "I'm thinking…" he replies absently, not really having an answer. His thumb makes a gentle movement which he knows can be interpreted as nothing other than a caress, and he wets his lips. "I'm thinking…"

_I'm thinking I have absolutely no idea what I am doing._

Reluctantly his hand falls from Anakin's face. "I'm thinking it has been a while since I last sparred with you. Care to join me?"

Perhaps he's just restless. He by no means enjoys the danger of battle, but his body is used to being at the ready, fingers used to clutching a lightsaber. A sparring session will take care of this as swiftly as meditation will, and Anakin's grin promises a workout.

* * *

Lightsabers are unclipped from their belts, adjusted from lethal mode to training mode, and powered up. Blue plasma hums in the air, faces illuminated by the glow, and Obi-Wan lets himself fall thoughtlessly, instinctively, into a duelling stance. Anakin takes on a prowl, making him look like a predator, the look in his eyes clearly marking Obi-Wan as his prey. A thrill of excitement runs through his body, an emotion which is the presage to every duelling bout with Anakin. That constant reminder, relief, that Dooku's lightsaber on Geonosis couldn't end this.

Eyes intent, small smiles lurking, they match each other step for step. "Ready?"

Anakin smirks. "Always."

And they begin to dance.

Ataru is the Form of choice today, but it purely instinctual. They slip into it, somehow just _knowing_ what Form to use without even saying a word. A demanding Form. It may be play, but they are deadly serious. Anakin Force-leaps over Obi-Wan's head with a grace he seems to have been born with and Obi-Wan intercepts, again just knowing exactly where Anakin's lightsaber would have struck.

Duck, swipe. Parry, pivot. Obi-Wan pulls back to take a breath when his leg protests to the strain.

"Come on, Obi-Wan, we've barely started! Not getting tired already, are you?" Anakin teases.

"Wouldn't you like it if I were?" Obi-Wan counters, giving a sharp bark of laughter at Anakin's pout, and they surge back together again, the clash of blue lightsabers exploding once more.

Strike, counterstrike, blow, counterblow. Leap, spin. Slash. Evade. Run, jump.

Dance. They're beginning to sweat, not that this will stop them. The mock-fight continues, lightsabers moving in a blur too fast to see with ordinary eyes. This is their art. It's like fighting against himself; he knows every move Anakin will make and counters it, except Anakin _knows_ that Obi-Wan knows, and counters the counterstrike. It's confusing but it works.

He's come far since Geonosis, and since attacking Anakin in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. He's stronger, better, faster. But even so, he can't keep up this kind of pace and power forever, and Anakin also knows this. They're both tired, wringing wet and blowing hard, and his shoulder is starting to ache. Anakin aims low, as Obi-Wan expects him to, and he jumps out of the way but comes down with too much weight on his right leg. With an inadvertent cry torn from his throat, pain flares through the leg and it gives out underneath him, sending him sprawling to the floor, flat on his back. Anakin's lightsaber hovers over him, the younger man's eyes wide with concern and horror, and he angles the blade away from Obi-Wan's fallen figure, making a move to help him up –

But Obi-Wan kicks out with his other leg at Anakin's ankles, a blow infused with the Force, and brings him falling down with a startled yelp.

Right on top of him.

The sudden weight of Anakin falling on him knocks the breath from his lungs, making him grunt, and Anakin's lightsaber clatters off somewhere to his left.

"_Never_ let your guard down," Obi-Wan pants, eye-to-eye with Anakin. "Any other opponent would not have hesitated to take advantage of my weakness."

Anakin swallows, and Obi-Wan can see the bob of his Adam's apple. "Yes, Master," Anakin breathes huskily, so close that Obi-Wan can feel his breath on his own lips. Neither move, both worn out by the intense sparring session. One second. Two seconds. Obi-Wan becomes acutely aware of the proximity, of the fact that Anakin's firm body is completely stretched over his, shoulders touching shoulders and hips aligned with hips. Their harsh breathing mingles, chests moving against each other, and a droplet of sweat trickles down Anakin's brow, tracing its way down his handsome face.

Applause from the crowd neither realised they had attracted shatters the suspended moment, and Obi-Wan nudges Anakin off him hurriedly and stands up, straightening his tunics. Anakin claps him on the shoulder, grinning contagiously, and Obi-Wan mock-bows, wondering if Anakin felt his flare of panic or can see the heat crawling up his neck, staining his skin with a light blush.

"Excuse me," he mutters, brushing past Anakin.

"Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan waves off his concerned tone. "There's something I need to do to," he lies, and heads towards the exit. Anakin can't follow him, held up by a crowd of admirers, but Obi-Wan seizes the chance to make his escape, mind and pulse racing.

_What in the name of the Force was that all about, Kenobi?_

He's never frozen up like that before. He's been in far more compromising positions with Anakin than _that_, and far less comfortable ones. It wasn't even that he _had_ been uncomfortable trapped beneath Anakin's body – far from. He hadn't minded at all – wherein lay the problem. He would have been content to simply lie there with his former Padawan sprawled on top of him, breathless and exerted and –

_Oh. Oh no._

The weight of realisation crashes on him and he leans against a wall, breathing heavily from the exhaustion of the sparring session.

_You stupid man._

Why hadn't he noticed before?

"Obi-Wan."

It is only due to years of Jedi training that he is able to stop himself from jumping in surprise. "Master Windu," Obi-Wan acknowledges in surprise, clamping his shields into place and praying Mace hasn't heard anything. "How can I help you?"

Mace just looks on gravely, gesturing for Obi-Wan to follow him. "Come with me. Master Yoda and I need to speak with you."

Fear grips his chest. "Master Windu, if this is about Anakin –" _Rather, if this is about _me_ and Anakin_ –

"It's not."

Oh. The war then, which some would consider to be _slightly_ more important. Right. He just wishes he doesn't feel so relieved that it's about that, and not about him and Anakin.

* * *

"Received word from Dexter Jettster, we have." Cross-legged on the floor of Yoda's inner sanctum, candles flicker, making the shadows on the rich wall tapestries waver as the ancient Jedi Master explains the reason for this meeting. "A request for you to meet with him, it is."

"We are convinced the request is genuine," Mace adds.

Obi-Wan nods. He, too, is convinced – he trusts Dex implicitly.

"There was no hint of what he's learned," Mace continues darkly. "He didn't want to risk divulging any details over an unsecured comm. link."

"Which means whatever he knows, he thinks it's dangerous," Obi-Wan finishes. Which means, he mentally adds, meeting with him may be equally dangerous.

"A trap, this may be."

They've changed since Geonosis. Death looms in every corner, the dark side in every shadow. Fear, mistrust – the Jedi have never been so suspicious and cautious, so willing to see danger everywhere they look. Although there is good reason now.

_The dark side of the Force clouds everything._

"I respectfully must disagree, Master," Obi-Wan says to Yoda. "Dex would never betray me."

Yoda sighs, his ears drooping. "Very well. Meet with Dexter Jettster you will, Obi-Wan," he agrees, not putting up much of a fight. This is unsurprising – Yoda knows that Obi-Wan will go no matter what is argued, and whatever information Dex has may be more important than Obi-Wan's life.

"Yes, Master Yoda."

"Go now. The sooner we have whatever information he has the better."

The barely concealed anxiousness in Mace's voice makes Obi-Wan pause. "Has something else happened?" he asks carefully, fearing the answer.

"Word we have just received, Obi-Wan, that three more hyperplanes to General Grievous have fallen."

"That makes six in this month alone," Mace adds gravely. "It's bad."

Bad? It's nothing short of devastating. Obi-Wan presses his hand to his forehead. Already they have lost crucial routes leading to Bespin, Kessel and Mon Calamari. Tactically, it's ingenious – Obi-Wan cannot help but admire Grievous for that bold move – but it is also crushes the Republic with each day he controls the routes. He sighs. "I will speak with Dex and report his findings as soon as possible."

"May the Force be with you," Mace dismisses, and Obi-Wan departs to make his way to the Temple docking bay. He almost makes it there in record time as well, but –

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

Anakin's voice behind him makes him halt and turn. "I have to visit a friend," he passes off vaguely. Any other time he would offer to take the smirking Knight along with him, but their faces are plastered all over the HoloNet and it would grossly suspicious if _both_ of them turned up to speak with Dex. Anyone could see. Anyone could guess what they were there for…put Dex at risk, and lose both their intelligence and a friend…

Anakin raises an eyebrow and saunters forward. "Oh?"

"If you're staying here, please don't drink all of the muja juice. We only have a little bit left." In other words, _you're not invited_.

Anakin seems to realise this and fails to hide a crestfallen look. "I'm not staying," he replies, the cockiness gone, and Obi-Wan holds back the apology lingering on his lips. "I promised Padmé I'd catch up with her."

"Ah." Obi-Wan doesn't know why he feels disappointed about this. He _likes_ Padmé. She's his friend. She's Anakin's friend as well – could have been more than his friend, had she less common sense. It's only natural Anakin will want to spend time with her. "Tell her I say hello, won't you? And that I hope she is faring well."

"Will do."

The part awkwardly, the unexplained tension of the sparring session still heavy in the air coupled with Obi-Wan's secrecy. Obi-Wan sighs and continues towards the hangar bay, choosing a citibike at random. He hates being cold, especially towards Anakin, but he doesn't see another way to get around this.

As to what 'this' actually _is_…Obi-Wan can't really be sure himself, but it isn't good, and until he figures it out he'll be as cold towards Anakin as he needs to be.

It is against everything he knows as a Jedi, against everything he has sacrificed to _be_ a Jedi. It's wrong and he knows it, but he does nothing to stop it because – and he feels damned to even be admitting this to himself – he enjoys it too much. Their friendship deepens with each passing day. Their touches – hugs before they part and when they see each other again, a comforting hand on a shoulder, holding each other at night when it's cold and sometimes when it isn't – are too long, too intimate, to be of a merely brotherly nature.

And that kiss. He's not supposed to keep _thinking_ about it, _imagining_ it.

Wanting it.

Obi-Wan touches his lips absently. Even two months after the Knighting he can still remember with startling clarity the soft pressure of Anakin's lips on his. There was nothing even remotely sexual about it, and here he is turning it into something it was _not. _He'd known, as soon as they (well, he) staggered out of the Manarai, that he should have been shaking his head and rubbing his eyes and frowning, and maybe muttering something about going to bed and getting a good night's sleep to delay the inevitability of a hangover, but Anakin was there and wouldn't release him from the half-hug, sleepy, and blast, he'd actually looked far too attractive for his own good with that smirk and those smoky eyelashes, standing in the soft light.

_You idiot. You moron, Kenobi, you stupid – gundark, you – blast…_

This is his own failing. He's done the exact thing he was terrified of doing years ago – becoming too close to Anakin. He can't pinpoint the exact moment he started loving Anakin more than he should, in a way that is unacceptable to the teachings of the Jedi and his own morals. And he doesn't even want to _begin_ thinking about the ethical aspects of this. Anakin is his former Padawan, a man he's raised since childhood. A man he's looked after, acted as a father and a brother to. It doesn't matter that Anakin is an adult now and no longer his Padawan. It doesn't matter that they're equals. He's just disgusted at himself and what all this is starting to make him look like.

"Damn it," he mutters to himself as he weaves in and out of the traffic lines, the soft curse swept away by the wind.

_This will pass. What's important is that Anakin never finds out, and that you maintain distance. It will hurt him, but you will do what you must._

He's too _old_ for this. Didn't he leave this all behind at the age of twenty-five?

In his distraction he nearly ploughs into an airspeeder, jerking out the way a second before it's too late when the Force hisses a warning. He breathes heavily, ignoring the blaring horns, and tries to gather his bearings. _Focus on the here and now_, Qui-Gon's voice seems to admonish him.

Qui-Gon is right. There isn't time for this. Dex is waiting for him, with information that could be crucial to the Republic's war effort, and he needs to focus on _that_. In the meantime, distance from Anakin seems to be the only answer to his, well…

…Whatever it is.

* * *

It is a low-key welcome, a hearty clap on the back which nearly winds him and an excuse that says he's come by Dex's for a cup of caf and to see if his friend has a spare powercell for the citibike. No-one looks his way, which is unsurprising. He's a regular at Dex's so everyone else there knows him. 'Obi-Wan' isn't a common name, but Dex's ragtag collection of loyal breakfast patrons either don't care that Obi-Wan is General Kenobi, or they haven't made the connection. The latter is rather unlikely, though. Not that it matters here – Dex tells him to wait around the back of the diner, away from passing and keen eyes. He's a HoloNet star now, thanks to Palpatine. An inevitable result of the Supreme Chancellor's relentless drive to put faces to the names of the Jedi fighting for the Republic, and now he's lost his comfortable anonymity. For months he's been the Negotiator and the Strategist. Everywhere he goes he is recognised, pointed at, whispered about. Perhaps the publicity will be good for the Jedi, but Obi-Wan hates it, because he knows what it will turn into _after_ the war, when the need to survive has disappeared and the impact of death and destruction hits home.

The Jedi are public figures. They may be heroes now, but when it's all over, the public will need to find someone else to blame…and Obi-Wan gets the sickening feeling that the 'someone else' will be the Jedi. Blamed for not stopping the war before it started. Blamed for the destruction of villages and cities and entire planets –

"Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan turns to face Dex who lumbers out of the back door, wiping two of his massive hands down an apron. Something is wrong about him today. It's difficult to read the emotions of a Besalisk, who were similar to the Toydarians and Hutts in their ability to withstand Force mind-manipulating. Right now though, Dex isn't blocking him or consciously projecting. He's _leaking_, an unpleasant muddle of fear and disbelief, and Obi-Wan feels a shiver run through him.

_I have a bad feeling about this._

"Dex, what's going on?"

"Hello to you too, Obi-Wan."

Immediately Obi-Wan groans. "I'm sorry, Dex. I didn't mean to be rude. I'm a little on edge right now." Well, that's an understatement if he's ever said one.

Dex clears his throat loudly and rubs the back of his neck, leaning over the citibike. "Yeah, I know," he grumbles, and hands Obi-Wan the powercell to swap in case they're being watched. They aren't, though. Maybe. It's difficult to tell. _The Dark Side clouds everything_. He hates not being able to see anything anymore. There's too much unknown, even more hidden. And in such dangerous times, too…

"Could be…" Dex murmurs, "maybe…that I know where you can get your hands on that _schutta_ Grievous."

Obi-Wan stares at Dex, heart racing. If they can find Grievous, destroy him, the war will be half won. _More_ than half won. "Where?" he breathes.

"Right now? Can't say. But I know where he might be in a little while."

_Might?_

Dex grumbles again, no doubt sensing Obi-Wan's apprehension. "Intelligence ain't a sure business, Obi-Wan. You want guarantees, you'd have more luck betting on Podraces."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I don't doubt you, Dex. I just…Never mind. Please, tell me more?"

"I mighta heard that Grievous is planning on capturing Bothawui."

Obi-Wan nearly stops breathing at this. _Bothawui? He can't be serious. _

Bothawui – home to the Bothans, whose intelligence-gathering skills are legendary and whose assistance to the Republic has just about stopped them from losing the war altogether. Information is their greatest strength – if they lose Bothawui to Grievous…Obi-Wan doesn't even want to think about it. It will make the loss of six hyperlanes look like _nothing_.

Swallowing, Obi-Wan rubs his tired eyes. "And you are…certain, about this?"

"My source is."

"You trust her, then."

"I do."

In these troubled times, this will have to be enough. He can't ask for her name because Dex will never give it over; the Besalisk is fiercely loyal and protective of those who slip him his invaluable information. "Can you tell me anything else?" Obi-Wan tries, desperately seeking for more. "When is he going to make his move? What size battle group will he take there? Can we –"

"Obi-Wan, I don't know. I'm sorry. If I did, I'd tell you, you know that."

"Yes, I know." Obi-Wan runs a hand over his beard, still unable to stop himself from feeling disappointed. Cheated. Ungrateful. Emotions very unbecoming a Jedi. He seems to be feeling a lot of those lately. "I can't thank you enough for this information, Dex," he forces himself to say, half genuine and half lying. "The Council will be very grateful – we owe you the debt of thousands of lives."

"I wish I could tell you more." _I wish you could tell me more as well._ "You'd best get outta here before someone notices I've been gone for too long." Obi-Wan nods and swings a leg over the citibike, face tensing as a ripple of dull pain travels through his leg. "Hey," Dex stops him with a concerned frown, "how's that leg of yours?"

It's worse than usual today, but Obi-Wan shrugs vaguely. "It has its moments."

Dex sighs. "You take care of yourself, Kenobi. If you wanna live to see forty you'd better stop pulling stunts like Mon Calamari, you hear me?"

"If I stopped pulling stunts like that where would you get your evening HoloNet entertainment?"

"Bah! Seeing your ugly mug flashing on every screen is hardly my idea of entertainment."

The tension hasn't disappeared, but it does lighten. Obi-Wan offers Dex small laugh. "Thank you, Dex. I'll see you soon."

"Hopefully not _too_ soon. See ya round, Kenobi."

With a sober nod, he kicks the citibike to life, and shoots into the Coruscant sky at a speed that puts Anakin to shame. He abandons all circumspection, exploiting the traffic privileges offered to the Jedi, taking the most direct route back to the Temple. Endless streams of traffic surge around him and horns and curses follow him but they're ignored.

_Bothawui. Grievous is after Bothawui._

The Republic will be crippled if that comes to pass, and the information is too vague. _When_ is Grievous going after Bothawui? More importantly, where is he _now?_ Dooku's pet and droid army can approach from half a dozen hyperlanes. The Republic has no hope of patrolling them all. The Jedi are stretched too thin, as are the clones, even this early in the campaign against the Separatists. Kamino can't speed up production because the quality of the troops depends on slower maturation.

What Dex has given him will have to be enough for the Council to go on. If they don't believe this or judge that there isn't enough information, and the threat is real, their caution may well be their deaths.

And now he's racing through the Administration Sector, between rows and rows of offices of towering skyscraper buildings. Almost there, almost _home_ –

Then he feels it. A violent tremor in the Force, a lightning-strike of darkness, tearing through his body as agonisingly as Dooku's lightning did on Geonosis, burning him to the bone. Abrupt and annihilating, coming from _nowhere_ –

And then the explosions.

Light comes first. White, then a bright splash of blood and black, directly below him, to his left and right and straight ahead. No noise, just colour, and everything seems to freeze. Leering silence, entrenched in darkness.

One second. Two seconds.

A shock wave, knocking the breath from his chest and slamming through his body, flinging his citibike end over end.

And finally the sound. A deep and rolling _boom boom boom boom_ echoing out, crushing transparisteel windows like they're made of plastic in a ripple just before they start to sway and shudder, disintegrating before his blurring eyes. The blue sky of Coruscant turns into a downpour of metal debris and bodies and speeders. He can't control the citibike anymore, it's like he's being tossed through the air like a leaf in a Tatooine sandstorm. Sometime strikes him from behind and he's thrown from the vehicle, plummeting down into the darkness below him, he can't see – he throws his hands out, tries to reach for the Force but he can't concentrate, it's swirling around him and all he needs to do is _reach out –_

_I need you –_

_I don't care –_

_Anakin, ANAKIN –_

Falling…falling…and –

* * *

_Anakin, ANAKIN –_

The bond screams with pain before cutting off from Obi-Wan's end. Padmé's white face is the last thing he really sees before he tears away from her, firing up his speeder and wrenching away from the veranda, completely careless of rules and safety and everything else that will slow him down from his overriding need to reach Obi-Wan.

_He's not dead. He can't be. I'd know if he was dead, I'd feel it._

Scant seconds turn into minutes too quickly, but already the carnage has stilled and the city is reacting. The sky is full of halted traffic, sirens, screaming, emergency vehicles. Debris is still scattered and floating; bodies ripped apart and littering every inch of the destruction with twisted metal and fire and shattered transparisteel he can see through the thick clouds of black smoke. His mind aches with the screams of thousands of voices but he closes his ears and heart to them, narrowing his focus until he can hear only one voice and feel only one jagged, thrumming presence in the Force. The bond is weak, so very weak, flickering and getting darker with every passing second.

_Hang on, Obi-Wan. Don't let go. Don't you dare._

It's like his mother all over again, except this is worse, far worse, because this is happening _now_ and this is _Obi-Wan_. Obi-Wan's fear, Obi-Wan's pain, his semiconscious confusion, summoning him. He follows the line which is losing its light more and more.

_Where are you? Where are you, Obi-Wan? Help me find you, just hang on –_

His entire presence is weaking and fading, the outline starting to blur – _no! No! I won't let this happen, I won't!_

The smoke is bad. Thick and choking, making it hard to see. But he doesn't need his eyes, he just needs the Force and for Obi-Wan to hold on for as long as it takes him to reach him. He lets it guide him lower, prompting him to slow down, go left, a little more to the left –

_There._

A deep breath, heart pounding, and he plunges deep into the smoke, through it, nose-first towards an open rooftop, cluttered with debris. It might have once been an office retreat, a small garden with a fountain in the middle, but it's completely destroyed. On it, twisted metal and a broken citibike. Next to it – _oh no, oh no, please –_ Anakin drops his airspeeder to the rooftop and jumps out before it even touches the platform.

"Obi-Wan! Oh, Force, Obi-Wan –"

He falls to his knees beside his former Master's side. There is so much blood – too much. Lying in a crumpled heap twisted awkwardly on his side, one arm bent underneath his body at an unholy angle, Obi-Wan stirs as Anakin falls beside him, hands hovering over the broken body.

"…An…kin…?"

"Don't speak," Anakin orders softly, terrified that if he touches Obi-Wan in any way he'll hurt him even though the only thing he wants to do is clutch him to his body tightly and never let go. "I'm gonna call for help."

"Anakin…"

"I'm here, Obi-Wan. Don't move, just hold on."

"Blast," Obi-Wan groans, "…think m'hurt."

_No shit._ Anakin fumbles with the comm. link. "This is Anakin Skywalker. I need Master Windu, it's urgent."

"_Master Windu is in an emergency Council session and cannot be –"_

"I don't care, just get Master Windu _now! _Do you hear me? _This_ is an emergency! _Get him now!_"

"Anakin, I…" Obi-Wan tries to move then gasps, pain flaring across the hazy bond. "There was an…explosion…I think…"

"Four," Anakin corrects, "but please just shut up, Master, save your strength –"

"I think I've broken something."

"Several somethings, more like."

"Oh. That's…not good."

"Perceptive as ever. Now be quiet, okay? You're fine. You're going to be fine."

"So…bossy…"

"Stop complaining, you know it turns you on."

"Anakin Skywalker, that…is completely…"

"Inappropriate?" Anakin completes, wishing he could smile.

"Yes. That." Obi-Wan grimaces and another ripple of pain makes the bond tremble. Anakin reaches out a hand, risking touching it to Obi-Wan's forehead. The Jedi Master's skin is cold and clammy to the touch, like ice. Not good. Not good at all. _Damn it, where's –_

"_Anakin, this is Master Windu."_

Relief is all-consuming as he lifts his comm. link back up to his mouth. "Master Windu, I need help. I'm with Obi-Wan and he's hurt, real bad. He got caught in the explosions and I don't know what to do –"

"_Calm down, Anakin! Can you bring him to the Temple?"_

"No, I don't want to risk moving him. He needs a healer. Now. Can you come? Please?"

"_Where are you?"_

Anakin's eyes scan his surroundings desperately. Nothing looks familiar, he doesn't know where the hell he is, just that he's here with Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan needs help _now_, they haven't got time for this – "I don't know! We're on a rooftop somewhere. The administration sector I think, but, just –"

"_Anakin! Panicking will not help you or Obi-Wan. Leave your comm. link open. I'll find you. Hold tight."_

"Thank you," he garbles, "thank you – please, just hurry – hurry."

He clips his comm. link back onto his belt. He can't seem to breathe, he's shaking too badly, skin slick with sweat and eyes stinging. Fear is all his mind knows, can't seem to think clearly –

"Liar," Obi-Wan whispers, cutting through the fog like a blazing light. "You said…you said I was fine."

Anakin swings his focus back to Obi-Wan, forcing himself to inhale deeply. _Calm down. Windu's right, panicking won't help Obi-Wan. _The sting of Obi-Wan's words is lessened by the faint smile on his face. How is this possible? How can he be _smiling_ at a time like this? "You _will_ be fine," Anakin insists fiercely. "You just need to save your strength."

Obi-Wan doesn't respond to this. Anakin touches his forehead, sickly white skin covered with blood and sweat. Blood soaking his beard. Blood all over his tunics, seeping out from that gash in his cheek and Force knew where else. Blood drying on his lips, only to be replaced by more, trickling and at times frothing from his mouth. He's damaged inside, must be – Anakin's seen this before. He was seven, maybe eight, and saw a Podrace crash, a pileup on the home run. Some female racer, alien – he's forgotten her name, too paralysed to remember it – thrown from her Pod straight into the barrier, and broke herself to pieces. She went into convulsions, blood gushing from her mouth, and Anakin watched as she died. Her name is lost to him but those moments which felt like hours watching her shudder violently have never left him.

_What if Obi-Wan goes into convulsions before Windu gets here?_

"Anakin," Obi-Wan coughs, "listen."

"No, _you_ listen – Master Windu's coming with the healers, please stay _quiet_ –"

"Anakin, please," he begs weakly. "It's important."

Important enough to waste his energy, important enough to tell this to Anakin on his deathbed?

_No. No, nothing can be that important. Nothing is more important than keeping him alive right now._

"Obi-Wan –" Anakin hisses, terror fuelling him, "_shut up_ –"

"_No!_" The force behind Obi-Wan's choked cry silences Anakin, and blood sprays from his lips. "_Listen!_ Please…tell…tell the C-Council that Dex's message…Grievous. He's – he's after B-Both…Bothawui. He's…"

_Bothawui?_ No – if Grievous gets Bothawui then they could lose this war in mere weeks – _days_. Anakin shakes his head. "Hey," he whispers, "you'll be able to tell them yourself. As soon as Master Windu gets here, you can tell them."

Obi-Wan's eyes are unfocused, full of confusion. "I don't think…I'm not sure I…"

Fresh blood leaks from the corner of his lips and Anakin bites back a cry, tenderly wiping Obi-Wan's mouth clear. "Don't talk like that."

"It's – it's okay, Anakin," Obi-Wan gasps, body shuddering underneath Anakin's frightened hold, or maybe it's his owns hands shaking he doesn't know – "It's all right…"

"Shh, shh, stop talking," Anakin hisses desperately. This can't be happening, he needs help, why isn't anyone coming, "Just hang on, okay? You'll be fine." He doesn't know who he is trying to convince more.

"It's okay," Obi-Wan breathes, his bloodied and violently trembling rising to touch Anakin's cheek. "It doesn't… doesn't hurt…anymore. I c-can't feel anything."

No. _No_. He isn't hearing this. It's not real, this can't be real – just _minutes_ ago he was joking around with Padmé about that _Secret Trysts_ book, and now – Obi-Wan's not dying, he's _not_ – "Hang on, Obi-Wan. Help is coming. Do you hear me? Don't you dare die on me. Don't you dare leave me. You'll be fine, okay? You'll be fine. Just keep fighting. Please. Please, don't…don't leave me." His voice drops to a desperate and choked whisper, helpless and pleading. "What'll I do?"

It shouldn't be like this. It's all wrong, the way Obi-Wan's eyes are tender as they attempt to focus on Anakin, the way his bloodied hand rests on his cheek. _He_ should be the one comforting Obi-Wan, not the other way around. _He_ should be the one gently wiping away the tears from Obi-Wan's face, not – not –

"You –" Obi-Wan coughs, bringing up more blood and jolting Anakin out of his self-loathing, "– you'll keep going…move on…"

"No –"

"Don't…be scared, Anakin," Obi-Wan whispers, his fingers weak against Anakin's face and chest struggling. Vibrant blue-green eyes rapidly fading to ash grey. "Don't…be afraid …it's okay…" His eyelids close with a flutter. "I…"

He's not going to cry. None of this is happening, it can't possibly be real, and if it isn't real then there's no reason to cry. But Obi-Wan's next shuddering breath forces him to realise that this is very real, and if the healers don't get here soon then Obi-Wan will – he'll – _oh Force_ –

Anakin curses, eyes desperately searching the crowded, smoky-clogged sky for Windu. Only Obi-Wan's life stands between him and screaming, crying – he won't let Obi-Wan see that part of him again. Seconds drag like hours – each moment that passes by another moment off Obi-Wan's life. He can't see Windu coming, he can't see _anyone_ coming for him.

He's on the brink now. Half a second away from risking everything, risking Obi-Wan's life by picking him up and putting him in the airspeeder and heading to the Temple himself –

But it doesn't come to that. Windu and team of three healers appear, miraculously, and descend on Obi-Wan's twisted form immediately, pushing Anakin aside and blocking his former Master from sight.

Windu grasps his arm and pulls him back. "Stand back, Anakin," he commands gently.

"No, I –"

"Anakin. He won't die. You did well."

_Listen to him_, the Force soothes when he starts to protest again. _Obi-Wan will live. Obi-Wan will be fine._

He still won't cry. He _won't_ – not in front of Windu. It's not that he's ashamed, because he could never be ashamed for caring enough about Obi-Wan, _loving_ Obi-Wan enough, to weep for him. But if he starts he won't stop, and there's something important niggling at the back of his mind, something about the war that Obi-Wan told him. Pass on the message, _then_ break down. Anakin shivers, the shock finally setting in, and his legs almost give way. "He gave me a message," Anakin says numbly. "For the Council. Grievous." Anakin swallows, trying to force down that dry lump in his throat. "Grievous is after Bothawui."

"_Bothawui?_" Windu repeats. "Are you sure? There's no mistake?"

"I know what I heard!" Anakin snaps.

He half expects Windu to snap back at him, berate him for his lack of respect, or at the very least smack the back of his head, but he just turns to the healers who are clustered about Obi-Wan. Everything about them is urgent – Master Vokara Che, famous in the healers' ward for her fierce protection of her patients and her legendary healing skills, is whispering something, and the other two are nodding. In one swift, coordinated movement, they turn Obi-Wan fully onto his back. Obi-Wan's sharp cry makes Anakin start, a ripple of terrible pain running through his body as though Obi-Wan's pain is his own, and he turns away so he doesn't run over there instead.

"Master Che!" Windu says loudly, and she looks up in irritation. "I have to return to the Temple. I'll leave you to aid Obi-Wan. When you return him to the Temple, find me and tell me the news."

Vokara Che nods curtly and returns to Obi-Wan. Anakin flinches as Windu grasps his arm again.

"Is that your airspeeder?"

"Yes, Master."

"Take us back to the Temple."

He doesn't want to go. He wants to stay here with Obi-Wan, but Windu seems to know what he's thinking and gives his arm a shake.

"Do you trust me, Skywalker?"

"Yes, but –"

"Then you have to trust that Obi-Wan is safe, but if his information is correct then Bothawui is not and every second we spend here means one less second _they_ have."

_Screw Bothawui, what about Obi-Wan?_

A tremor racks his frame at the thought. Obi-Wan would be very displeased if he heard that. Windu's right, of course. He can't stay, not if it means endangering thousands of lives, because Obi-Wan wouldn't want that at all. So he nods, even though every fibre of his being screams to stay at Obi-Wan's side, and heads towards the speeder, stifling a sob when Obi-Wan screams again behind him. He leaps into the speeder with Windu close beside him and with shaking hands starts it.

"Don't pay attention to the speed laws," Windu mutters, looking like he's regretting what he's saying already. Anakin almost smiles, but Obi-Wan's twisted body flashes before his eyes again and fear grips him, instinct telling him to turn around and go back.

_It doesn't… doesn't hurt…anymore. I c-can't feel anything._

"_Anakin,_" Windu hisses when Anakin freezes, and finally his muscles start working.

He doesn't pay attention to the speed laws.

* * *

A full Council session is convened, every Master in attendance, even though three-quarters appear in holograms. Windu orders Anakin to share his information, and the flash of irritation happens too quickly for him to release it. He doesn't want to be here. He wants to go to the Temple's Halls of Healing and wait there for Obi-Wan – he's already given Windu the message. There's no _point_ for him to be here.

But it's his duty. And these days, Anakin Skywalker actually _does_ his duty.

(Sometimes. Maybe.)

So he stands before the Council, sweeping them with an impatient look. "Obi-Wan told me that Grievous plans to attack Bothawui."

A murmur erupts through the Council – _Bothawui, Bothawui, Grievous, Bothawui_.

"You're certain?" Adi Gallia asks.

"Of course I'm certain! What, do you think I'm making this up or something? _Kriff!_" Anakin snaps. Fuck respect, half of these morons don't deserve it. Fuck rationality. Fuck Jedi serenity and all that bullshit – no matter how much he's made to meditate, he's not going to turn into one of _them_. Don't they care that Obi-Wan was half-dead, risked his life to make Anakin deliver the news? "That's what Obi-Wan told me, and I don't care how crazy it sounds, you have to believe me! You have to believe _him!_ He was in agony, he was _dying_, and all he cared about was making sure you received this message."

"From Dexter Jettster, it came," Yoda informs the Council when Anakin pauses to take a breath.

"Which means it's true!"

"Which means," Eeth Koth's hologram corrects, "Obi-Wan _thinks_ it's true. Dexter Jettster could have been mistaken, or misled."

"No," Anakin refutes, "Dex is never mistaken, and he would _never _lie to Obi-Wan. _Not once_ has Dex been wrong. Ten months of accurate information."

And if the Council doesn't believe this, then they can just shove it up their tight arses and –

"Thank you, Anakin," Windu says heavily. "The Council will deliberate in private now. You're excused, _but_ –" Anakin freezes at this, "– you do not have permission to go the Temple Healing Halls _yet_. You must wait until the healers have stabilised Obi-Wan."

Anakin's fists clench tightly at his sides and he looks down in a parody of a bow, then chokes as he notices for the first time – his beige tunics are soaked through with blood.

Obi-Wan's blood.

He stares down at it, mouth dry, then raises a hand to clench the drying material, the dampness of Obi-Wan's blood mingling with the dried blood on his skin. Windu makes a funny movement in his Council chair but Anakin just murmurs a quick, "Masters," lips numb, and flees the Council Chambers without looking back.

Hundreds of horrified faces pass him as he runs through the Temple to his and Obi-Wan's apartment. A few try to stop him, terrified at his appearance, but Anakin doesn't hear them or care, he just needs to get _home_ and get _rid_ of the sight. Sanctuary is found when the door seals behind him and he staggers through the apartment, tearing the clothes away from his body furiously, as if they're diseased. It looks awful, a massacre. A slaughterhouse, like he's just murdered a village, another tribe of Tusken Raiders, and at this thought he somehow finds the 'fresher and locks the door behind him before collapsing over to the toilet to dry heave into it, hating the feeling of throwing up but wishes that he actually _is_ so he can purge himself of something, anything. He misses his old tunic, the dark ones. At least if blood got on that, no-one could see it as much.

_Blood. Obi-Wan's blood._

He gags, his back against the cold tiles.

_Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan._

It becomes a chant.

_Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan._

The bond is still silent but the pain, that won't go away any time soon.

_Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan._

Time becomes meaningless, so when someone is beats on the door, loudly, cutting through his mantra of Obi-Wan's name, he jumps. It's the 'fresher door, not the main one, which means it's someone who is either really good at hacking or has a Master override.

"Skywalker?"

"Go away," he whispers. "Go away, please."

Whoever it is can't hear him, of course, and knocks louder. "Skywalker, it's Master Windu. Open the door."

What the fuck does he want now? He doesn't want to see anyone, doesn't want to talk, doesn't want to do _anything_ unless it's about Obi-Wan. "Go away!" So what if he sounds like a child? Windu can just suck it up, for all he cares.

"Anakin Skywalker, open this door now!"

"Unless you're here to take me to see Obi-Wan, leave me the _fuck_ alone!"

Windu is not only a terrible shrink; he's terrible at taking orders. The door is hacked open from the other side and when it opens, Windu stands there in the doorway with his hands on his waist and glaring down at Anakin's cowering figure on the floor of the 'fresher, expression severe. "Skywalker…"

"_What?_" Anakin spits.

Windu sighs and kneels beside Anakin. "This is a dangerous attachment, Anakin."

Of all the _kriffing_ things to say, the bastard – "I don't care! Don't you dare pretend you weren't terrified either, I felt it!"

"I am not a stranger to attachment – nor am I a stranger to death and loss. No Jedi is. Yes, I care about Obi-Wan, but I would not have allowed my anger and fear consume me. Those are paths to the Dark Side. If you do not –"

"I know, all right? I fucking know already! Remember Dantooine when I left him behind? I _know_ I can keep going and do my stupid duty but he – today – he – he was just going to _die_. _He_ was going to leave _me_! I was right there, and he was just going to _give up_ –"

"He was not abandoning you or giving up. He thought it was over for him, of _course_ he wasn't going to fight what he felt was the will of the Force. He was prepared to let it take him –"

"_It wasn't his time!_"

"Skywalker, you will control yourself!"

But he can't. He can't control himself, not anymore. It is with a sharp breath and tensing muscles that Anakin takes one look at Windu's stormy face, assaulted by visions of Obi-Wan's body broken and twisted on that bloodied rooftop, and he can't hold it in a moment longer. It's released in a second, a low wail turning into a flood of tears. It wasn't Obi-Wan's time, it _wasn't_ – not just because he's too young (even though he thinks he's old) or he's too important or the Force didn't think it was time either, but because Anakin can't bear to consider a life without him.

He's not ashamed. He doesn't care that it's Mace Bloody Windu who's watching him cry like a Youngling, or holding him tightly and letting him sob into his shoulder for what feels like hours and hours on end. He doesn't know how long it takes for the shuddering to subside, but when it does he stays where he is, sniffling into Windu's shoulder and smearing tears and blood all over the Korun Master's tunic.

Eventually Anakin pulls back, averting his gaze, as Windu takes the moment to examine his soiled clothes. "I would like you to know that this tunic was clean," Windu grumbles, and Anakin shakily wipes his face with the back of a bloodied hand.

"Could be worse," he mumbles sheepishly, and Windu crosses his arms.

"How?"

"I could have dyed them purple and _then_ sobbed all over you."

"Very witty, Skywalker."

"I thought it was funny."

"You think dead baby jokes are funny. Forgive me if I don't share your over-inflated opinion of your aptitude for humour."

"Obi-Wan would've laughed."

"Obi-Wan also thinks you're greatest thing to grace this galaxy since the invention of hyperspeed."

"Well, aren't I?"

Mace _looks_ at him.

Anakin sniffs. "You never tell me I'm beautiful anymore, Master Windu."

A light scuff on the back of his head is the response.

* * *

The aftermath of deep healing is an odd sensation: floaty, disconnected, heavy. Very unpleasant. It feels everything and nothing like what he felt when waking up on Geonosis after his encounter with Dooku. There is pain, but it is not a crushing sense of betrayal. It's physical only, new injuries and new pains, entwining with the constant throb of his thigh wound. Hazy memories shift behind closed eyes like clouds or shadows sweeping a chasm.

_Explosions. Fire. Shock. Falling…falling…A rooftop, closer and closer, reaching out for the Force to stop, and oh dear, this is going to hurt, isn't it, and – impact –_

He thrashes feebly on the rooftop. Funny, it feels soft now and maybe he should stop moving because yes, it actually _is_ hurting quite a lot. It's silent, though. That can't be right. No screaming or sirens, which is strange because people say that hearing is the last thing to go. And there's something itching at the back of his mind, something important. A message or something. Something to do with the war, maybe, but he's told Anakin, hasn't he? Bothawui, that's what it was. Bothawui, and Grievous. It's important, but it's okay now. It's all right. Don't be scared, oh Anakin please don't cry –

"Be still you must, Obi-Wan, or scolded by Master Che you will be."

Wait. What?

_Oh. Am I alive?_

His heart thuds painfully in his chest when the words catch up to him. He struggles to open his eyelids which feel heavy, like lead. Yoda. Yoda needs to hear the message, but – be still? Scolded? Who cares? Grievous is going to attack Bothawui, and Yoda is telling him to _be still?_ There isn't _time_ to be still –

"Listening to me you are not! Hit you I shall, if keep this up you do! Then scolded by Master Che, _I_ will be."

Yoda's talking to him about, of all things, being scolded by Vokara Che. Which has actually happened before, it's a legend around the Temple – she's probably the only one in the entire galaxy who can get away with yelling at Yoda, and – _for Force's sake, stop wasting time! The message! Bothawui! Grievous!_

"Master," he whispers, shocked to hear his own voice so weak. Even though the light is mellow he squints against it, eyes tender. Pale walls, high ceiling, the sickly sweet smell of bacta – he's in the Halls of Healing. Blast. He hates it here.

"Speak, you must not," Yoda reprimands, his hoverchair by the bed. "Listen instead."

"Yes, Master. But –"

"Dexter Jettster's message we have heard."

Heard it? How? He hasn't told them yet, hasn't told anyone except – except –

_Anakin._

Anakin, leaning over him, by his side on that rooftop. Anakin found him. Anakin _saved_ him, and must have delivered the message. _Oh, Anakin, Anakin, thank you…_

But does Yoda believe it? They must believe it, they _have_ to –

Terrified, he tries to sit up. Cries out instead as his body protests, the room disappearing in waves of blinding pain.

"_Be still!_ A relapse, do you desire?"

Not particularly, but a relapse is minor, insignificant, in comparison to what _will_ happen if Grievous takes Bothawui. Time is running out with every second he wastes in this bed being told to _be still_. "Master, we must defend the Both system," he forces out through gritted teeth. "Assign me a battle group. Let me –"

"No," Yoda orders, one small hand pushing him flat into the mattress. "Finished healing, you have not. Young Skywalker, decided it was, a battle group will lead to Bothawui."

Anakin, in charge of a battle group? No – no – it's too soon, too much to ask of him, they've always done things together, they're _the team_. He _needs_ to be with him, by his side, it's just the way things _are_, how can Yoda even _suggest_ that they be split up –?

"Let go of this attachment you must, Obi-Wan. Let go of your fears. Trust Anakin, you do not? The wrong man for this, you think he is?"

No, not wrong. Anakin is perfect for the task. But…

_You knew this was coming. You've had months to prepare for it. He's a Knight now. You couldn't honestly think the Council would let you stay with him forever? It's time for you to let go of him…now, more than ever before._

More than ever before – more than when Anakin was still just his Padawan, before Geonosis, before their bond deepened and before they got closer, closer than any Jedi should be with another. Before Obi-Wan started feeling things he shouldn't.

_Remember your vow, to keep as much distance between yourself and Anakin?_

"Hmm? Mistake, I have made?"

"No, Master Yoda," Obi-Wan admits softly. "You haven't made a mistake. He's not the wrong man. I trust him. If anyone can be trusted to defend Bothawui, it's Anakin."

The words break his heart, but Yoda nods in approval. "Yes. Faith in young Skywalker, we all have now. Lead a battle group to Bothawui, he will. The mission details, you will give him. Tell him you will, when allowed to visit you he is."

A datapad is pressed into his hand, cold and heavy. "Yes, Master," Obi-Wan whispers, and closes his eyes, trying to slip back into the safe arms of unconsciousness where he can't be haunted by the war or by Anakin, but Yoda's soft sigh from the side and the shuffling _tap-tap_ of a gimmer stick tells him loud and clear that he is only delaying the inevitable.

* * *

"Anakin…" says a soft female voice, accompanied by a gentle hand touching his shoulder. "Anakin, wake up."

His eyes snap open, jerking from sleep to consciousness in a heartbeat. Vokara Che. "Yes, Master."

She smiles at him. "Master Kenobi is awake. It's late, but you can visit him if you wish."

Late? Yes, it's very late. Far past midnight, more than fourteen hours since he found Obi-Wan on that rooftop.

"Anakin, it's important you don't let him become agitated. He's still in a fragile condition."

Anakin nods. "Thank you, Master Che," he says. It is with a final sharp and searching glance that Vokara Che departs. Anakin tugs his tunic straight. After Windu left he had a shower and stood under scorching hot water for an hour to wash the evidence of Obi-Wan's near death from his body. New clean tunics were left for him, probably by Windu. Light material again, no blacks and browns although he wants them now more than ever before. The bloodied ones are long gone, no doubt. He's not sorry for that. With a deep breath he presses the door release to enter the room. Discreetly lit as to not distress its occupant, Anakin finds himself blinking to adjust to it.

Immediately his eyes find Obi-Wan. Propped up by a mountain of pillows, his hair and beard are neatly ordered and free of blood. Relief just about crushes his chest at this, but everything about the scene screams _Geonosis_ all over again, Obi-Wan forced into bed-rest, pale and injured. Again. The gash on his cheek has been healed, leaving behind it a thin pink line that will fade in time. His face is too white, from the blood loss. Anakin's breath catches in his throat as he makes his way over, smiling weakly.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan greets with a smile of his own.

"I made sure the Council got your message," he tells him softly as he sits down on the chair beside the bed.

"I know. They believed it. Thank you."

Anakin ducks his head. "How do you feel?"

"Better than I was."

"You know, for someone who hates going to the Healers, you're sure here a lot."

Obi-Wan hides another smile behind his beard. "I'm thinking if I change my mind and pretend to love coming here, I won't end up needing to as often."

Anakin snorts. "Yeah, that might work." But suddenly it isn't something they can joke about anymore. "Master…"

"They're sending a battle group to intercept Grievous at Bothawui," Obi-Wan interrupts, not unkindly. "Admiral Yularen has been appointed the ranking Republic military official, transferring from the _Spirit of the Republic_. Your flagship will be the _Resolute_. It's one of three newly commissioned cruisers."

Anakin nods, trying to keep up with the information being thrown at him. "Okay, so – wait. What? _My_ flagship?" Anakin stares at Obi-Wan, who meets his gaze evenly.

"Yes."

"That can't be right. I'm not ready to –"

"Well, then you'd better get ready. You're leaving as soon as those ships arrive. You and as many clone pilots and troops as we can spare. Given its sensitivity, the mission has been classified at the highest level of security. The Supreme Chancellor is being privately briefed by Master Yoda, and no-one else in the government will be told. Not until it's over, one way or another." He frowns deeply, tension humming through the Force. He's scared, Anakin realises. He's terrified, and not just for Bothawui. He's scared for Anakin. "I can't possibly overemphasise the importance of this mission. For the first time since Geonosis, _we_ have the element of surprise and we may never get it again."

"And we can't let Bothawui fall." Obi-Wan nods, and Anakin rests his chin on his hand. He won't bring up Obi-Wan's fear now. "Yularen's a good man. Who's commanding the other two cruisers?"

"Hasn't been decided yet."

"And do I get Captain Rex?"

"If you want."

_Oh, I want him. Rex and the 501__st__ are mine._ "Yes. Please."

"Then you'll be happy to know he's on standby. Captain Rex and his men will be ready to ship out when you are."

Anakin finds himself smiling. "You knew I'd want him."

"Of course. Don't tell me you're surprised. I know you far too well, Anakin."

Yes, yes he does. Still stunned by the news, his sits back in his chair. "But you're not coming, are you. This command should be yours."

"No, it shouldn't. I'm not fit. I won't be fit for days, and Bothawui doesn't _have_ days."

At this, Anakin chews his lower lip, casting an anxious glance over Obi-Wan's bandaged body. "What's the damage?" he asks. "No-one's telling me anything."

"Various bumps and bruises, a few cuts. A little scorched here and there," Obi-Wan dismisses, and Anakin scowls.

"_And?_"

"And, there's no need to make such a fuss, Anakin. This is the exact reason no-one has told you anything. I hardly look at death's door. Thanks to you."

The gratitude is ignored. "You look fine _now_, but everyone knows Master Vokara Che is a genius. You weren't fine when I found you _dying _on that rooftop."

Obi-Wan has the grace to look ashamed.

"What is the damage, Obi-Wan?"

"Concussion," Obi-Wan mumbles, and looks down at his hands which tremor as they have done for the past ten months, but worse than they've been in while. "Broken shoulder, cracked pelvis, a few broken ribs and a punctured lung. One or two internal organs jostled a bit."

_Oh, is that all?_ "Well, that'll teach me about overreacting next time, won't it," Anakin tries to joke, but Obi-Wan just offers him a weak smile that makes his own shaky mood plummet again.

He's holding back something – something that is stopping him from meeting Anakin's gaze, something making him shield as tightly as he can. Something that grips him with fear, which isn't about Bothawui or his concern for Anakin. He touches Obi-Wan's face, forcing his chin up gently so that that his eyes have nowhere else to look except into Anakin's. "What's wrong?" he says softly, and Obi-Wan shakes his head, trying to move back, but Anakin doesn't let him.

"It's nothing, Anakin."

"Liar."

Obi-Wan frowns, and the Force runs cold about them. "All right, fine. It is something, but it has nothing to do with injuries. In fact, it is completely irrelevant to this matter and that's all you need to know, young one."

Anakin pulls his hand back sharply. _Young one?_ The last time Obi-Wan called him that was months and months ago, so long gone he can't even recall. Sure, they still have their moments. Sometimes Obi-Wan slips up and forgets the 'former' part of 'former Padawan' but it doesn't bother Anakin, not really. He's a Jedi Knight now, a General, Obi-Wan's equal with equal responsibilities. He used to worry that Obi-Wan would never see him as that but he hasn't for ages. In battle there's no room for doubts. Obi-Wan has to trust Anakin; not only that, he _does_. Or at least he thought he did.

But _young one_. That wasn't a slip up. That's an insult. A warning, telling him to back off and keep his nose out of where it doesn't belong.

_…he treats me like an equal. I'm not just his former Padawan. We're…we're _the team_…_

Just hours ago he said that to Padmé. Maybe he was wrong, after all.

This is all hurting him a lot more than he ever thought it could, but the anger and the frustration and the tears are quickly clamped down on. Vokara Che will throw him out by his ear if he starts yelling here, which he will end up doing very soon if he doesn't change the subject. "Does it hurt?" he instead asks coldly, nodding at the bandages.

Obi-Wan sighs. "No, not yet. I've taken enough painkillers to knock a Bantha out. But really, I am fine."

An image of Obi-Wan's twisted body again, blood seeping from the corners of his lips. Anakin's gut clenches. The anger is still there, just pushed aside, but he quickly discovers that grief and terror aren't the best substitutes. "You nearly weren't," Anakin says softly, wishing he didn't sound so choked. "You…you were going to give up."

Obi-Wan's eyes widen. They're blue right now, free from the murky grey of death. "No – no, Anakin, I wasn't –" he stutters, sounding flustered and _human_ for the first time this conversation. He looks pained, as if only just realising what he put Anakin through. _I don't think…I'm not sure I… _"I wasn't giving up. I didn't _want_ to die. No-one does. I was just prepared to accept that maybe…maybe that it was my time to leave –"

Obi-Wan reaches his hand out, as if on its own accord, perhaps to give comfort, but Anakin slaps it away even though the only thing he craves is Obi-Wan's touch. _Young one._

"But it _wasn't!_ It _wasn't_ your time to go, I don't _want_ you to die –"

The emotion is quickly replaced by a stony expression. "I thought we'd overcome this, Anakin! This is attachment. You have let go of it."

This conversation is _not_ going the way he wants it to. "I can do my duty –"

"But you still _fear!_"

_You hypocrite_, Anakin wants to snap, but what comes out instead is a pathetic plea: "Can you stop being a Jedi just for one minute?"

"A Jedi is all I've ever been. You can't ask me to stop being who I am."

"Just try and be _human_. Are you telling me you wouldn't care if _I_ was about to die? That you wouldn't do everything you could to save me?"

"You _know_ I would, and that's what makes this dangerous! Anakin, I – I care for you, far more than I should. You _know_ I would do everything within my power to save you, but at what price? I must draw the line _somewhere_, and I expect you to do the same. If it were a choice between me and the rest of the galaxy, I expect you to choose the galaxy. If I were to die tomorrow, I'd expect you to grieve and then get on with your life. It's not emotion that is wrong, it's what those emotions make us _do_. It's _dangerous_."

"All of that is so much easier said than done. Look me in the eye and tell me you would do everything you just said. Look me in the eye and tell me that you would do what you just said."

"Don't make me answer that, Anakin. I –"

"_Look at me_."

It takes a long time, but when Obi-Wan does look up at him, the expression in his eyes is like a punch to the gut.

"I…" Obi-Wan starts, then wets his lips and tries again when his voice falters. "I would choose the galaxy. Over you. It would kill me, but that would be my choice."

He expected this, of course. It's something that's always gone unspoken. It's the whole _only when it's necessary_ turn on him, except it's so much worse. It's one thing to vaguely know of something. To be confronted by it, so cruelly and bluntly, well that's something else altogether. Anakin stares at him, mind vacant.

_He'd…oh. Well. He'd choose…he'd choose…_

He can't even complete the thought. Is this how Obi-Wan felt on Geonosis when Anakin jumped?

"It doesn't mean I don't love you," Obi-Wan says hurriedly, as if this will fix everything (because it doesn't). "Don't ever think that, because Force help me, I _do_ love you. It just means I am able to do so unselfishly. I can't love you at the expense of this galaxy. _That_ is what I expect of you. Can you look _me_ in the eye and tell me that you would be so selfish as to choose me over everything else?"

Right now? He's asking him _now_, after what he's just told him? Instinct has him reering to spit out, _actually, I'd choose the galaxy over you in a heartbeat, you bastard,_ but he can't. "Master…"

"Because if it comes to that, on _either _of our parts, then I…I will have no other choice than to ask the Council to keep us separated –"

"No! No, please – Master, I…"

Shit. _Shit_. They fall silent, Anakin running his hands through his hair and Obi-Wan resting his forehead on his hand, frow burrowed in stress. _Good_, Anakin thinks spitefully, _he deserves to be stressed._

"The time apart may be for the best," Obi-Wan finally says, not looking up.

"For me or for you?" Anakin mutters bitterly.

"Both. This, between us – it isn't…"

"Isn't what?" he demands. "Right? Normal? What?"

"Appropriate," Obi-Wan says sternly. "And it needs to stop."

The hugs. The touches. Holding each other late at night on missions, when it's cold (and sometimes when it's not). The proximity, the _need_ to be close, reassurance that they're alive, they're together.

_And it needs to stop._

"It's not just you, Anakin," Obi-Wan murmurs, sounding defeated. "It's me as well. We're too dependent on each other."

"That's not a bad thing," Anakin tries weakly, lips as numb as they were in the Council Chambers. He can't believe what he's hearing. They were fine yesterday, weren't they? The sparring session, only yesterday morning. They were fine. Where is this all coming from? He just doesn't _understand –_

"It has the _potential_ to be a bad thing."

"How?"

"Because – because if this goes on any longer, one day I _will_ choose you over the galaxy and I can't let myself fall that far!" Obi-Wan cries, sounding strangely distressed.

"You mean you can't let yourself care about me that much?" Anakin can't help but stab, relishing in the flash of anger and hurt that crosses his former Master's face. He knows that's not true, because Obi-Wan does love him, he's said so himself, but he needs to say something hurtful to block out the pain in his chest.

"Haven't you listened to a word I said?" Obi-Wan says in clear exasperation, and maybe a little desperately and apologetically. "I _do_ care about you that much, but –"

"You have to draw the line somewhere. Yeah, fine. Whatever. I get it," Anakin finishes curtly. It's too late for apologies.

"Anakin…please." Obi-Wan pinches the bridge of his nose. "Just…I don't want to fight like this. You'll be deployed in a few hours and I don't want this to be the way we say goodbye."

_Then why did you start it?_ Anakin thinks bitterly, but instead says in a sullen tone, "Yeah, okay," because he doesn't want to fight either, even though Obi-Wan's words have hurt him more deeply than he dares think about. If he does, he'll end up saying something really horrible, something worse than what Obi-Wan has just told him, and that's something he doesn't want to do. He can be really cruel when he wants to be, this is knows from experience, but that's not something he ever wants to direct at Obi-Wan again. No matter what Obi-Wan says or does. He loves him too much.

"Anakin…you can defeat Grievous. I know you can. Never doubt my faith in you."

It's not enough to heal the wounds on his heart, but it does warm him, just a little bit. "Thank you, Master."

"You're to meet with the Council first thing in the morning. Be polite. Try not to gloat too much."

Great. Not only does Obi-Wan insult him, then pratically spit on the past ten months, he has to _lecture_ him about trivialities as well and act like he still has a right to. Just wait until he finds out how he behaved in the Council Chambers when delivering his oh-so-precious message. "There is no try," Anakin snarks, but the dour tone destroys any joke that could have been made. Obi-Wan winces.

"No," he says softly. "I suppose there isn't."

Anakin pulls himself out of the chair and stomps over to the door then pauses and sighs heavily, resting his head against the frame. "I'll – I'll see you after this business is all over, right?" Anakin asks, sounding far too desperate for his own liking.

"Of course," Obi-Wan answers in that same defeated tone which makes Anakin want to shake him and demand an explanation for all of this. "May the Force be with you, Anakin."

He knows a dismissal when he hears one. "May the Force be with you, Master," he murmurs, and leaves without a backwards glance. Because if he looks back at Obi-Wan, pale with droplets of sweat from pain clinging to his forehead and confined to that bed, he'll start to cry again.

_Young one._

* * *

To find the author's notes for the next four (or five) chapters of the "Wild Space Arc", please see my profile page. Most of it is quite important so if you have the time, it would be worth checking out. I also have a new poll up on my profile page, and it would mean a lot to me if you could cast your vote! It is highly significant for the next chapter of _From The Ashes_ and it relies a lot on your vote, but please keep in mind that my final decision will not necessarily be based on the results; it is designed to give me a better indication of your opinions, which are very important to me. The poll will be closed in exactly two days' time, so please vote as soon as possible!

Thank you to the 89 people who have this story on their Favourite's List and the 138 people who have this on their Alerts List. But most of all, my deepest thanks to my incredible reviewers: koreto-chan, wolfofsummerbreeze, World's Neighbor, Valairy Scot, Cymru na Alethaira, eukaryote, ObiBettina7, charliebrown1234, Sati James, donahermurphy, Live4StarWars, ILDV, Invader Miraza, OddBall2008, XxRandom NemesisxX, Helisse, pronker, NativeGurl1208, CoronaAureola, Takianna, and NerdyNel! Without your support or your wonderful comments, I would never have made it this far. Thank you all so much!


	27. Fear Leads To Anger

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

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I am so sorry for the delay! I have a good excuse, I swear. Like, um, University work. And real work. And life. And I hope you forgive me and that this chapter makes up for the wait. Thank you for being so patient with me! I have been overwhelmed and humbled by the response the last chapter received, and I hope this chapter can live up to expectations. Thank you to everyone who took the time to review! I promise I will get around to responding to reviews but I'm pressed for time at the moment (assignments, URGH) and I figured you guys would prefer an update to a review-reply. So here it is!

I also have some great news about _From The Ashes_! As you may or may not know, I am writing a non-slash version of this story on the Jedi Council Forums, and this story was nominated for several categories in the 2010 Saga Fanfiction Awards! Best Drama, Best All-Round, Best Epic, and I was nominated for both Best New Author and Best Author. It is my pleasure to announce that _From The Ashes_ (the non-slash version) won **Best Drama** in a tie with Valairy Scot's absolutely amazing _Even Jedi Cry_, and I am so honoured to have won the award with her. In addition to that, I also won the **Best New Author** category! Thank you to every single person who nominated and voted for me on the Jedi Council Forums!

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**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Twenty-Four –  
Fear Leads To Anger

The _Resolute_ is a beautiful ship.

No blaster burns, no scorch marks from shorted wiring, no war wounds at all. This will change very soon, of course, but for the moment Anakin is content to simply admire it. His fingers tenderly trail along every shiny, flat surface of the flagship's bridge. The machine is a tool to others, but to him it is a living, breathing creature, silent in its beauty but whispering its secrets to him through the Force.

It's more than beautiful. It's _perfection_.

But the usual joy and affection for the ship he would have felt is absent. The ship's low murmur in the Force is drowned out by those words, repeating over and over again in his mind.

_Young one._

What did that _mean?_ Why would Obi-Wan say something like that? Surely he would have known it would hurt Anakin. It was true they were far closer than they had ever been – was Obi-Wan warning him, reminding him that Anakin really _was_ just his former Padawan, little Ani who was dumped on his lap by Qui-Gon? Doesn't matter that Obi-Wan claims to love him. If he loves him, he wouldn't have said that.

Maybe, Anakin thinks, his chest infiltrated by an icy cold grip, Obi-Wan has just had _enough_.

_Young one._

A heavy thump of his heart synchronises with the tapping of a gimmer stick on the deck. "Anakin."

The severity of his mission rushes back in a swift second, almost managing to push aside all thoughts of Obi-Wan. "Master Yoda," Anakin acknowledges with a respectful bow, his dread smothered in his shields. He knows he should release these emotions, but that takes concentration, and he's not concentrating very well at the moment.

"Satisfied, are you, that in order everything is?"

Anakin holds back a sigh. "Yes Master. Everything's…perfect." Well, not _everything_. The ship is, there's no doubt about that, but…_Don't think about him._ "My compliments to the shipwrights. They've done a wonderful job."

But Yoda does what Yoda has always done and peers at Anakin, as if cutting through carefully constructed layers of shields to discern his very soul. Anakin shifts uncomfortably under the guarded expression, feeling open and vulnerable.

"Bothering you, is something? Like to tell me, would you? Hmm? Listen, I will."

Listen, and give what advice? The same that Obi-Wan gave him – to cast aside his attachment, focus only on his duty, and just stop _caring?_ Anakin shakes his head. He's being unfair, yes, but right now all he can hear is _young one, young one_, and he's not in the mood to revisit that all again. "Thank you for your offer, Master Yoda, but I feel this is something I must try to deal with myself."

Yoda 'hmm's and nods. "Wise you are becoming, young Anakin. But forget not that always here, I am."

He appreciates the sentiment but he'd sooner have Obi-Wan than the meddling green troll.

"Master Yoda…next time you see Obi-Wan, please tell him…tell him I said 'thank you', and that I hope he recovers quickly and…and…"

_And that I love him_.

"And? Hmm?"

Anakin scowls at the troll. _And that he can shove his words up his arse, that's fucking what._ "And I won't let him down," he finishes lamely instead, willing away the spite.

"Know that, Obi-Wan does," Yoda says, almost gently, and Anakin shivers, getting the feeling that Yoda isn't responding to spoken words. "Faith in you, we all have."

"Thank you, Master."

"In constant communication with us you will remain, Anakin," Yoda orders. "Your best judgement you must use, but take unnecessary risks you will _not_. Seek to distract you, Grievous will. Prepared you must be. More than one battle you might have to fight, I sense."

"Yes, Master Yoda. May the Force be with you."

"And with you. Farewell, young Skywalker."

The ancient Jedi Master departs quickly after this, ears still drooped low. Anakin bites back another sigh and turn to face Captain Rex. "Are your troops settled and ready, Captain?"

Calm as always, his newly grown fuzz of blond hair bright under the bridge lights, and dented armour spotless, Rex nods. "Yessir. They'll do you proud."

"I have no doubt they will, Captain. Rex…"

"Sir?"

"I'm glad you're here. I wouldn't want to take on Grievous without you."

_I just wish…_

_Well, don't! Even if he weren't injured, he wouldn't be here. He doesn't _want_ to be here. He doesn't want to be anywhere _near_ you. He's a liar and a hypocrite, and –_

"It's an honour to have you back, General," Rex is saying, and Anakin focuses on him, belated realising his hand has clenched, fingernails cutting into his palm hard enough to draw blood, and Force knows he's had enough of blood lately. He forces a smile and the clone's jet-black eyes warm.

"Thanks, Rex. You know I'd have no chance without you."

* * *

A steady five days of meditation, healing, sleep, and contemplation do not soothe his restless soul.

_Young one._

He hasn't called Anakin that for months.

It was used as reminder to himself – to keep in mind that Anakin is his former Padawan, a young man he has raised since childhood. To remind him of his place, and of Anakin's. Anakin, no doubt, will have taken it as an insult. Perhaps it was, subconsciously. But it was mostly for himself.

Obi-Wan sighs and massages his aching leg, trying to relax into the couch and failing miserably. Five days since Anakin has left off and not a single word yet – he shouldn't be worried, because that's how this mess started in the first place, but he can't help it. Care and love can't be turned off like a light switch. If it were that easy, Cerasi and Siri wouldn't have happened. Satine wouldn't have happened. _This_ wouldn't _still_ be happening.

_Think, Obi-Wan. Why – how – did this happen? How did you _let_ this happen, and why didn't you stop it?_

The _why_ is easy enough: Anakin is extremely attractive, although it isn't just the way Anakin flutters his smoky eyelashes when he wakes in the morning, or how firm his chest feels when Obi-Wan is pulled against him. It's everything about him, the way he makes Obi-Wan laugh when no-one else can, the way he gives him hope in this darkened age, the way Anakin grasps his hand before parting and the way they don't even have to speak a word to convey just how much they mean to each other.

The _how_ is far more daunting: Obi-Wan let Anakin get too close, and let himself get too close in return.

When did Anakin stop being his son and his brother to become an object of desire? It's impossible to pinpoint the moment. Perhaps there is none – this wasn't a conscious decision, rather something that has slowly been building up over months. Maybe even years, though he fervently hopes not. None of this is Anakin's fault, of course. It is exactly as he thought before, on that terrible day of the bombings: this is his own failing. His own sin. Anakin is innocent in this mess. Anakin hasn't changed, just Obi-Wan's perception of him.

_Oh, Kenobi…you're too old for this. Get a hold of yourself._

And Anakin – oh, dear Force, how would Anakin _react_ if he even _suspected_ –?

_You're the closest thing I have to a father_, Anakin had once told him, and the nausea he's been carrying around all week floods him again. Anakin – the nine-year-old boy he looked after and practically raised. The boy who once likened Obi-Wan to his father, the boy who _trusts_ him.

This is the worst possible betrayal – lusting after a young man whom he'd known since the age of nine. It's wrong – more than that, it's nothing short of _disgusting_, _disgraceful._ Force, he can't let Anakin ever find out. He'd rather Anakin hate him for thinking he doesn't love him, than hating him for loving him too much. It's safer this way, for both of them.

It's lust. That's what this is, what this _has_ to be. Nothing more. Because if it's just lust, it can be easily dealt with. His mind is transforming friendship and admiration into something they aren't, fuelled on by his attraction to a young man who is in his sexual prime. Who _wouldn't_ be attracted to Anakin?

_Well, _you_ certainly shouldn't be…_

This, he thinks bitterly, is the _exact_ reason he swore a vow of chastity.

The beeping of his comm. link is a welcome distraction, yet it is with a suffering sigh he answers it.

"_Master Kenobi, I have Senator Amidala on the line. She wishes to speak with you."_

Padmé? "Put her through," he requests, frowning as they are connected. "Senator Amidala? This is Obi-Wan Kenobi. How can I assist you?"

"_Master Kenobi, I wonder if you could spare me a little of your time. Something has come up, and I'd appreciate your advice."_

"Of course," he replies a moment later. "Did you wish to come to the Temple, or –"

"_If you could come to my apartment I'd be most grateful. Now would be ideal, but only if it is convenient for you."_

That last part is a lie – her voice, disguised beneath affection for a friend, is tight. She needs to see him now, regardless of whether or not it is convenient for him. "Certainly, Senator," he agrees, trying to push down the wave of fear. "I'll be with you shortly."

"_Thank you, Master Kenobi,"_ she says, and the connection is cut.

He doesn't move straight away, taking the moment to think. Something has scared her, or at the very least is concerning her. Something big. This hardly leaves him feeling sanguine – if she's worried about something, it can only mean trouble for the Republic and trouble for the Jedi. As if there isn't enough trouble already.

Still, the call hadn't been about Anakin, which means for now, Anakin is safe and Obi-Wan can face Padmé's news, no matter how dire, without betraying anything.

Maybe. He hopes.

But now that Anakin is in his mind again – as always – he can't stop, and paranoia and fear take over, and he reaches Padmé's apartment at a speed which would have made his former apprentice proud. Padmé is there to greet him on her private landing platform, looking as beautiful and regal as ever, but very tired, and the look in her eyes is enough to yank his fear to the surface.

"What is it?" he finds himself blurting out. "Have you heard from Anakin?"

She stares at him, blinking. "Wh- no. Why would I have heard from Anakin?"

_Well done, Kenobi. Congratulations. You are the epitome of intelligence today, aren't you. _He could just about hit himself for that awful, awful slip. "I'm sorry. A misunderstanding, Senator. I thought – you sounded concerned over the comm. link and I –" _I jumped to conclusions._

Her hand rests on his arm, soft and soothing, almost maternal. "You're worried for him," she observes, eyes filled with understanding. She'd be a good mother, Obi-Wan thinks. Standing here with her, letting himself draw comfort from her touch even as he aches with guilt, he wonders for maybe the second or third time in his life what growing up with, knowing, being _loved_, by his mother would have been like. "It's nothing to be ashamed of," Padmé continues to fill in the silence.

_Oh, but it is. If you knew just how deep my concern runs, you'd be ashamed of me as well._ He feels faint colour rise in his face. "Padmé, I – it's not appropriate that I – never mind. I'm sorry."

"I'm not sorry. You're worried about him. I'm not the Jedi Order, Obi-Wan. I don't think caring for someone is a crime. Is Anakin in trouble?"

Well, no-one has ever accused Padmé of not being perceptive. "He's…on a mission," Obi-Wan evades. "I can tell you nothing about it except that it isn't proving as straightforward as we'd hoped. I thought to have heard from him this morning, but I – we haven't."

"Is he hurt?"

"No, I'd know," he says quickly, truthfully. The bond, shielded but there, reassures him that for now at least, Anakin is safe. "He's just challenged. This mission is important. Too much depends on its success. I should be there with him, but my injuries…I was prevented from – and – I –"

_And I can't afford to be near him right now._

This isn't like him at all, to be so incoherent, but better incoherent than gushing the truth to face Padmé's disgust, the Jedi's contempt, or Anakin's hatred.

"It's not your fault, Obi-Wan. You didn't abandon him, you nearly died. Although, if I may say, you have made a remarkable recovery."

"The Temple healers are very skilled," he murmurs, grateful for the change of subject. "Padmé, why am I here?"

"I have a couple of visitors," she says, her head turning slightly to the main room where two figures are seated, backs to the landing platform. "Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan and Fin- former Chancellor Valorum," she identifies them quickly before Obi-Wan can ask.

_Valorum?_ As in, the very same Finis Valorum Padmé herself forced from the Chancellor's office? This entire situation is becoming stranger by the minute.

"Bail claims to have received word regarding the securing of a hyperlane for the Republic."

That news in itself is enough to make him keel over. A hyperlane for the Republic – it would be incredible, except…it's the reason he's here, and if he's here for it, there means there's something wrong. "But…?"

"But, there's a problem with it," Padmé fills in predictably. "A big one, and it's terrified him."

"Why have the Jedi heard nothing of this hyperlane before?"

"_No-one_ knows about it – that's what makes this information so important! This hyperlane could be a blessing for the Republic, but we need to secure it properly first and find out what's going on with it. If Grievous hears word of it…"

Well, the implications of _that_ hardly need to be left to the imagination.

"If no-one knows about it, how does Senator Organa know of it?" Obi-Wan asks, mind racing.

"Whatever he knows, his contact told him."

"What contact?"

More information, more mysteries. How can the Jedi and the Republic hope to win the war when everyone is keeping secrets from each other?

"You'll have to ask him that," Padmé says. "He came to me because the Jedi don't know him very well. Because he trusts me, and he knows you trust me as well."

"And do you trust him? And Valorum?"

"Yes. I do."

That tone, that firm but heartfelt tone, could make him jump off the side of the building if she'd asked him.

"They're good men, Obi-Wan. They both love the Republic. If you had any idea how hard we're working to keep it safe –"

"They're politicians, Padmé," he interrupts, old prejudices unable to keep from resurfacing. If there's anything he's learned over the years it's that politicians are out for themselves first, their planet second, and the rest of the galaxy last.

"_I'm_ a politician," Padmé says sharply.

Yes, well. Padmé is the exception. "You are far more than a mere politician, as we both know," he says quietly. And she is – she's one of the dearest friends he has, absurd as it may seem. She's not like the others in the Senate. She's honest. He _knows_ her.

"A compliment, Master Kenobi? I'm shocked! You should warn me next time, give me a chance to sit down." The joke dies quickly, though, and she looks towards the living room where her guests are. "I _am_ more than a politician. I'm…I'm a Loyalist, Obi-Wan. As are Bail and Finis."

The use of Valorum's given name throws Obi-Wan for a second. Swallowing the questions, he returns to the subject at hand. "This hyperlane…"

"I only know the bare facts Bail has shared, not the details. I'm not the one with the contact. But for what it's worth, I do know Bail well enough to promise that he doesn't scare easily and he isn't a gullible fool."

"I see. Very well, then. Let's hear what Senator Organa has to say."

* * *

"They call themselves the Friends of the Republic," Senator Organa explains over a tray of untouched drinks C-3PO has left on the table. "They first contacted me a little over four years ago. At the time, the Alderaanian government was in negotiations with Chandrila for a joint mining venture on Aridus. My wife's family has connections to the Corporate Sector, and some of those connections were involved in the project. The information provided by this group helped avert a diplomatic and humanitarian disaster that could have engulfed not only Alderaan and Chandrila, but several other key Republic systems as well."

Obi-Wan frowns. "And they did this purely on an altruistic motive?"

Organa clears his throat, the flicker in his eyes showing he's heard Obi-Wan's scepticism. "And because they would have been directly impacted by the resulting scandal if the minding venture had been allowed to continue there," he admits grudgingly. "I do not deny enlightened self-interest was a factor, but it is also true that many lives were saved by their intervention. And self-preservation is hardly a crime."

Perhaps not, but it certainly tarnishes the halo. Obi-Wan holds back a sigh. "Senator, forgive me for pointing this out but one mynock does not an infestation make. These 'Friends' of the Republic may have aided you in mopping up a difficult political situation but that does not –"

"Master Kenobi, please," Valorum interrupts. "Give Senator Organa some credit. I am familiar with these Friends of the Republic and can support their trustworthiness. They have proven themselves many times after the mining venture conflict, and Senator Organa is hardly the only one they have helped. We cannot offer you any more than this."

What happened, Obi-Wan wonders, to the softly spoken and seemingly ineffective Chancellor of twelve years ago?

"If you are not prepared to take my word on this, Master Kenobi, you might as well leave right this moment," Organa half-snaps in answer to the silence which he must have taken as doubt. But as for leaving – well, that won't do at all. Senator Organa is fuming silently and Obi-Wan has half a mind to simply say, _all right, fine_, because he doesn't need _this_ on top of everything else, like his leg and the Coruscant bombings and his other injuries and _Anakin_ –

But the Republic desperately needs whatever it is Organa is offering, so Obi-Wan keeps his bum planted on the seat and strokes his beard contemplatively. "Taking word alone is a very dangerous thing these days, but I trust Senator Amidala," he says diplomatically. "She, it seems, trusts you, and you trust these Friends of the Republic."

"The friend of my friend of my friend is my friend?"

"Must you give me a headache outside the Senate as well?"

"_Obi-Wan._"

Obi-Wan clears his throat, silently receiving Padmé's admonishment. "Senator, I accept your assertion that these people – whoever they are – have proven themselves to be friends of Alderaan and that their information has in the past been reliable, but what makes you believe they are reliable beyond that? I do not deny that if they truly have discovered a hyperlane that can aid the Republic, their service will be invaluable, but what if it is a trap? Senator Amidala has already told me that there is something wrong with the hyperlane. You have not come to me on your own volition – did the Friends recommend you to the Jedi? Who is to say that the Separatists are not behind this, and are trying to lure us out?"

"Yes, they recommended me to the Jedi but they are _not_ in league with the Separatists. The matter is genuine. My arrangement with these people is proof enough for that."

"Do you meet with them?"

"No," Valorum interrupts again. "We've never seen or spoken with them. Their communications are text-based and encrypted, completely secured. The coded messages are unique. You must understand, they don't work for us. They are an independent organisation who guards their identities. If they learn something they think we should know, they tell us."

"You are taking an amazing leap of faith, sir."

"I _know_ that, Master Kenobi! But this information is too valuable to let it slip through our fingers!"

"You never answered my question, Senator. What makes these people reliable? I cannot raise hopes amongst the Jedi and the Republic if they turn out to be false."

Valorum can't respond to this, and Padmé can't either, but Organa shifts guiltily on his seat. "You aren't going to like this, any of you."

The Bad Feeling intensifies.

Slowly, choosing his words with care, Organa details the other information passed to him by his mysterious contacts. Information concerning certain wartime engagements that are rigorously restricted, such as the fact that the clone army had been requisitioned by a Jedi, and that someone had purged all records of Kamino from the Jedi Archives.

"They gave me this information as a show of good faith, in a way to demonstrate that their wartime intelligence is extensive and accurate. If they give me information I can trust it is correct."

Both Padmé and Valorum stare at Organa. "But – Bail – I don't understand. Why didn't you ever mention this?" Padmé splutters before turning to Valorum. "And you, Finis? Did you know about this as well?"

"My connection with them is minor. I never knew any of this," Valorum murmurs. "This is very serious, Bail. Surely the Security Committee should know that there's been a breach of –"

"I'm sorry, I couldn't tell you, or anyone. I gave these people my word, _years_ ago, that I would never reveal their existence!"

"Then why are you doing so now?" Obi-Wan demands before Padmé loses her final hold on her temper. "What has changed?"

"This _war_ is what has changed. The discovery of this hyperlane – and the subsequent…issues…have forced their hand. They don't wish to be revealed, but in order to help the Republic they need the Republic to first help them. Or rather," Organa turns a sharp, discerning eye to him, "the Jedi to help me help them. _One_ Jedi – no more. Well, Master Kenobi? What do you say? Will you hear the matter out?"

Does he have a choice, if he is this 'one Jedi'? If he does, he doesn't see it. "I will, Senator."

"Good," Organa nods, then faces them all. "As you know, they have discovered a hyperlane. One that could make up for any three we've lost this month. This hyperlane skims along the Outer Rim and can bridge the gap between the Roche Asteroids and Kamino in one trip."

Organa pulls out a dataprojector from his pocket and brings up a small holodiagram map of the known galaxy. Even though it sorely lacks detail and depth, it's enough for his purpose, showing only the key systems. The new hyperlane blinks innocently – temptingly – on the projection. "That's…huge," Obi-Wan manages to say, and Padmé nods with him. From the corner of his eye he sees Valorum lean forwards, hand on his chin, to assess it with his sharp eyes.

"Yes. As you can see," Organa points at the map, following his finger along a route, "it follows the Perlemian Trade Route from Coruscant as far along as the Roche system. After that, the route swings downwards just before it approaches the Lianna system and cuts between the Belderone and Drongar systems. It continues down, skimming the Outer Rim and slipping into Wild Space. It comes back into the Outer Rim to get to Kamino." There is a beat, and Organa swallows his enthusiasm. "The original name for it was Salvation Run. At the moment they're calling it the, uh, Death Run."

As far as hyperspace route names go, Obi-Wan has heard far more creative ones, nearly shuddering at the cliché title before reminding himself – sharply – of the matter's seriousness. "Dare I ask why?" he ventures, knowing the answer before anything else is said.

"Actually, that's exactly why you're here. You see…strange thing have been happening along it. Theoretically, and according to all calculations, the hyperlane run should take exactly a standard galactic week for a Republic flagship. It's completely clear – no asteroid fields or nebulas or anything of the kind. It's as though it's –"

"Too good to be true," Obi-Wan completes, and Organa nods.

"Yes. And we're beginning to fear that it is."

"What are these 'strange things', Bail?" Padmé askes, her voice tight, although whether this is due to the stress of the situation or Bail's deception, it's hard to tell.

Organa avoids her burning glare. "Four separate teams have trialled the lane, and each one has been kept under surveillance," he explains quickly. "The first two days in hyperspace seem to be fine, but after that, as soon as the lane goes through Wild Space, all contact is lost and the ship never makes it to Kamino. Four separate cruisers – this isn't something to be taken lightly. The Republic needs this hyperlane, now more than ever before, and we need to find out what's going on along it. It's as though there's something else that our scanners and calculations have missed. Something that kills."

Something that kills. Of course. Well, no-one promised him being a Jedi and fighting a war would be _easy_.

"The Friends want to meet me at there temporary base at the Roche Asteroids. Well," Organa amends quickly, "_us_ – myself and the Jedi who is to accompany me. The situation is too delicate to be conducted over comm. link or via coded shortbursts now."

"Meet _us?_" Obi-Wan shakes his head. "Absolutely not, Senator. Everything I've heard so far has made it perfectly clear that is will be too dangerous for you. I'll take this information to the Jedi, and if they decide the matter is worth pursuing I will go alone."

"I don't think so. We go together, or _I'll_ go alone."

"Bail, don't be stupid –"

"I have not taken leave of my wits, Padmé! The point I am trying to make is that I am not going to hand over my comm. link, my datareader and my decryption codes and wave good-bye as Master Kenobi flies off to meet _my_ contact without me."

"It is unlikely the contact will speak to you without Senator Organa, Master Kenobi," Valorum speaks up again, his soothing diplomatic voice cooling the air. "After all, he is their contact. Not you, and not the Jedi."

Organa looks at Obi-Wan sharply. "Either we can sit here and argue until sunrise, or we can agree that I am going, with or without the approval of the Jedi. I requested your presence because my contacts requested the involvement of a Jedi. Had they not, I can assure you I would be halfway to the Roche Asteroids as we speak."

"You strike a hard bargain, Senator. Very well." And oh, how he just _knows_ he'll regret those words. "Will I have time to consult with the Jedi Council? It is imperative they at least know."

"So long as you don't conspire to keep me here by force, I see no reason to object. But please make it quick. I'm not in the habit of keeping people waiting. The Republic needs this hyperlane, and regardless of the danger I _will_ see it secured!"

_Don't shout back, don't shout back._ It takes every ounce of his Jedi training to pull back the anger at Organa's stubborn, politician's righteousness and foolishness, and Obi-Wan rubs his tired eyes, choosing defeat. "Is there anything I should know about the situation? Anything at all, before I inform the Jedi Council so they can decide the best course of action?"

"Just one thing. The fourth team – the Echo Rescue Unit – was being constantly monitored at all times. The recordings turned to static by the end of the first three days and all contact was lost, but just before – well, they vanished again, the sound recording kicked back in. We have the recording here."

"Please play it, Senator."

Organa hesitates. "I must warn you – it is very disturbing."

"Bail." Padmé's voice is cold and demanding, strong enough to make anyone listen. "Play it now."

The Alderaanian Senator obeys and presses the button. Static fills the silent living room with a constant beeping in the background, the warning sound of a serious problem with the cruiser. Noise flickers in – a scream and a sickening crunch, followed by another and another until the recording is a jumbled mess of screams and what sounds like bones being crushed. Padmé's face is whiter than Obi-Wan has ever seen it and Valorum's hands are clenched by his sides, tightly enough to draw blood.

"_STOP IT, STOP IT, YOU'RE KILLING HIM!"_

The crack of a hand striking flesh, a yelp.

"_That is rather the point, darling."_

"_No –"_

Another buzz of static, drawing out for barely a minute punctuated by indecipherable murmurs of human voices. Obi-Wan can't make out words, only tones – a woman's voice, horrified, and a ruthless male voice, cold and hard and cruel, and –

"– _BITCH, YOU SLUT, YOU TREACHEROUS WHORE –"_

Clothes being ripped.

"_No, p-please, PLEASE – OH GODS – NO, NO – GERALD –"_

Wails turn into choking sobs, mingling with grunts, and the recording eventually slips back into static, the beeping now a constant alarm, the sound of a ship about to go down.

"_Come to me…come to me to die, Jidai –"_

Crippling chills race up his spine and the recording cuts out in a final buzz.

"What in the galaxy…" Valorum breathes in the distance. Obi-Wan blinks at the stopped recording, mind numb.

"Jidai," Padmé repeats bravely. "Who's Jidai?"

Organa shakes his head. "There was no record of anyone by the name of 'Jidai' in the party, and my contact didn't say she knew anyone called Jidai either."

No, of course the contact wouldn't. It's not a name, it's a title…but Obi-Wan can't get his mouth to work.

"What was all of that, then?" Padmé presses, her confusion heavy in the air. _Boom boom_, goes his heart. _What was it? Oh, Padmé…be thankful you don't know._

"We don't know," Organa replies obliviously. "There isn't enough information. The Friends are refusing to send anymore teams through the lane on rescues, which means that what we have is all we are going to have."

The dark side seems to pulsate from the small device, nauseating and toxic, trapping his stare. He longs to look away, to thrust the sickening object away from him, but all he can seem to do is blink at it, hearing the sound of bones being crushed by the Force and the screams of a woman being raped, the brutal curses of a man diseased by the dark side of the Force_…come to me…come to me to die, Jidai –_

"Master Kenobi!"

It's like having ice water thrown on his face. Eyes wrenched from their hypnotic Terror gives way easily to aggravation at Organa's tone. "What?"

Organa stares back, arms crossed. "I _said_, what do you think?"

What does he _think?_ He thinks – he doesn't _know_ what he thinks, except that he's never been more irritated by a man who isn't Anakin, and never been more terrified in his life. Valorum is slumped in the couch, eyes heavy with exhaustion and shock. Padmé is watching him carefully, assessing his every movement. Obi-Wan looks back at Organa. The Alderaannian Senator is not unaffected – under the practicality and abruptness, he's as shaken as anyone else here. Obi-Wan glances at the recording device for a moment then meets Organa's eyes again.

"I think…" he says slowly, keeping his frustration and fear in check and deliberately ignoring Padmé's gaze, "that this has just become a matter of interest to the Jedi."

* * *

He enters the Council Chamber to find Yoda and Mace Windu in conversation with a hologram Anakin. First instinct is to turn around and walk straight back out, but the proof that Anakin is alive makes him dizzy with relief and he hovers in the shadows to listen to the conversation. Anakin sounds exhilarated, furious, exhausted, a breathlessness to his voice that reminds Obi-Wan of their sparring session, Anakin's body stretched over his.

"–_cut us out of our hyperlanes three times. I don't know how Grevious knew where we'd be. He's got good intelligence or a dangerous new tracking system, I'll give him that. But even so, I can tell you that these new cruisers are worth every last credit. I'll transmit a full performance report as soon as I can get a moment to think straight."_

Yoda and Mace exchange guarded glances then Yoda turns, beckoning at Obi-Wan in the shadows of the doorway. "Join us, Obi-Wan. Informing us of his progress, young Skywalker is."

Darn that troll. He's trapped now. Heart in his throat with a horrible mixture of love and guilt and working hard not to show it, he crosses the chamber floor. "Anakin," he says as he enters the holocam transmitter field, and that's all he seems to be able to get out. What is he supposed to say? He desperately wants to apologise for his cold parting words from last week but he knows he can't, not in front of Mace and Yoda, and what good will it do anyway? Those words were and are the truth, plain and simple, and breaking them is not an option.

"_Obi-W- Master Kenobi,"_ Anakin says, startled, then composes himself quickly to hide the surprise with indifference and barely concealed anger. _"You're looking better than the last time I saw you."_

Eyes gritty from lack of sleep, the use of his title and the cold, impersonal words are like another stab to his heart. _Don't be like that, Anakin. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._ Buyer's remorse, is what it's called in the lower levels of Coruscant. He's got what he asked for, he hates it, but he can't return it.

"Thank you," he says bluntly, matching Anakin. "I think. What's happening?"

Anakin huffs. _"The situation's crap. Grievous isn't where we are now, but a few hours ago we think he might have picked up two more cruisers."_

"You're heavily outnumbered, then. I advise retreat." And that's his fear for Anakin talking, not a tactician's mind.

"_If we run, the Separatists will take control of this sector – the system you nearly died for."_ Anakin's anger is hardening into that stubborn resolve that drives Obi-Wan half mad. _"I won't let them do that."_

Of course he can't – retreat isn't in his nature – but some tiny traitorous thought escapes his strategist's mind: _Anakin won't retreat because you nearly died to pass on the information. _Trust Anakin to make Obi-Wan love him more even as he turns his hair grey. And the first feeling is something he can't let himself feel anymore. "You might have to," he says instead. "You should regroup. You don't stand a chance against –"

"_We're not running."_

"Suicide is not the Jedi way," Obi-Wan says firmly. Just once, _once_, he wishes his former Padawan would do what he says.

"Listen to your old Master, you should," Yoda chimes before Anakin's short fuse blows – a saving grace, as always.

"_Master Yoda, I'm insulted. When have you ever known me to do that?"_ A smile curves Anakin's lips. _"No. We're going to stay and fight…and I think I know how to beat Grievous at his own game."_

Is there any point in arguing? No, of course not. It's Anakin, after all. Brash, outspoken, opinionated Anakin. And Obi-Wan will have him no other way, even if he does drive him half mad. "You'll do what you think is right, as you usually do," he sighs, if only a little defeated. "Just – and I realise I'm wasting my breath, but I'll say it anyway – try not to take any unnecessary chances."

Anakin's eyebrows rise. _"I'm surprised you're letting yourself care about me that much to remind me, Master Kenobi."_

Behind him, Mace's confusion stretches the atmosphere taut, but it's the way his own words are so cruelly turned back on him that make his heart pound painfully in shock and hurt and too much anger for his own comfort. The same way he hurt and angered Anakin. "Anakin –"

"_Knight Skywalker, if you please."_

"Knight Skywalker." His jaw tightens. Fine. Let Anakin be that way, acting like a petulant child. "May the Force be with you," he grits out, barely meaning it and saying it only for courtesy's sake, because if he doesn't say that he'll say something worse, and he does still possess _some_ self-control, and Anakin glares back.

"_And with you, Master Kenobi,"_ he says, sounding as insolent as ever._ "Master Yoda, Master Windu."_

And the transmission ends, and two, three heartbeats of silence pound after his image disappears. If Mace and Yoda are shocked by the exchange, Obi-Wan ignores it.

"Obi-Wan…" Mace starts, but Obi-Wan holds up a hand.

"Don't. Just…not now, please. It's not…I didn't come here for this. I…" He exhales heavily, trying and failing to release his frustration. "I bring news."

"Good or bad?" Mace is quick to ask.

"I suppose that remains to be seen. One on hand, it may be a blessing in disguise. On the other, it could simply be a brutal ruse."

"Hmm," Yoda says, folding his hands over his gimmer stick. "In riddles, you speak. My job, that is. Share this news, Obi-Wan."

"Yes, Master. Senator Amidala contacted me scant hours ago to meet with Bail Organa and Finis Valorum."

"A strange gathering," Mace observes. "Did –"

"Be still, Mace!" Yoda snaps, waving his gimmer stick in the Korun Master's face threateningly. "Listen now, I will, and gossip about it later to you."

Mace scowls at the troll. "Why later?"

"A briefing I scheduled for you. In fifteen minutes, it starts. Make it, you might, if you run."

"You didn't see fit to inform me of this earlier?"

"Slipped my mind it did. Young, I am not. Flattered by your assumption I am, however."

"I see. Nevertheless, it may in our best interests if I stay –" Mace says, glancing at Obi-Wan. Irritation floods back and he frowns. An argument with Anakin is not evidence of being mentally unfit. The circumstances _behind_ it, maybe but it's not relevant for this.

"If you are referring to the situation between myself and Anakin, it is nothing that can't be sorted out with a bit of time and distance."

"And why do you _need_ this time and distance, Obi-Wan?" Mace demands. "We've just split up The Team because of your injuries. Why do you think it's best to _keep_ The Team apart without providing a valid excuse?"

"Mace…" How can he confess? How can he look Mace in the eye and say, _because I'm sexually attracted to my former Padawan even I have sworn a vow of chastity, and he is my _former Padawan_?_ He can't, because then they'll be kept apart forever, and it doesn't need to be forever – it just needs to be until Obi-Wan can get over it, and then everything will be back to normal. "…it's just an argument. It will be resolved soon."

"Sounded more like a lover's fight than anything else. Make sure you fix it soon. We'll need you two together after Bothawui," Mace grumbles. The choice of analogy almost makes Obi-Wan cringe, which Mace thankfully doesn't see as he turns to face Yoda. "Master Yoda –"

"Despite my size, need a babysitter I do not. Burn this Temple down when you are not looking, I promise not to."

Mace snorts and departs with a 'May the Force be with you' to Yoda and Obi-Wan. When the door seals behind him, Yoda looks over at Obi-Wan and nods his head. "Continue, Master Kenobi."

"Thank you, Master. Senator Organa approached us with news. He is in contact with an obscure group who call themselves Friends of the Republic, and they claim to have founded a hyperspace route that leads directly to Kamino."

"Hmm. Helpful this would be. But telling me everything, you are not."

"They have tested the lane four times with four separate groups, one after the other. None arrived. All contact lost within the week. The lane skims the Outer Rim and slips briefly into Wild Space, which is where the transmissions all cut out. Wild Space is notorious for hidden dangerous. Asteroid fields, black holes…the disappearances, while unfortunate, are hardly suspicious…or at least, that's what I thought. Then I heard a transmission recording that made it through. And I think you should listen to it, and tell me I'm not going mad."

It is with a wavering hand he plays back the recording, and with a growing sense of dread that settles in his chest as he watches Yoda carefully, every movement and expression reflecting his own: horror.

Fear.

_Die, Jidai._

"Jidai," Obi-Wan repeats when Yoda stops the playback, the word harsh in his mouth.

"Language of the Sith, that is. Translates to _Jedi_."

"_Come to me to die, Jedi_." Obi-Wan pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling nauseous. "I fear the threat of Sith. If this hyperlane has been opened up, and there are Sith along it –"

"Impossible, this is!" Yoda snaps. "Two Sith there are, no more, no less. The Rule of Two. Suggesting, what are you?"

"I am not suggesting anything," Obi-Wan placates diplomatically. "I'm _considering_ the possibility that over the years, the Order of the Sith developed. Advanced. Master Yoda, please – the Sith that fuel this war, they are not of the ancient ways. They are cunning and deadly. They've _adapted_. And we…this Order…we've not changed for over a thousand years. We cling to the knowledge of the Old Republic. The dark side clouds everything, Master. We didn't sense anything until it was too late. This recording proves the existence of a dark force, and it's being controlled by something."

But Yoda is shaking his head, and Obi-Wan's hope starts to sink. "Reckless you are becoming, Obi-Wan. Too much of Qui-Gon, I see in you."

A compliment or an insult? Either way, his heart warms at the comparison. "I'm not pleading for the Order to change, or the Code, or any of the sanctions we have in place. We have reasons for all of those – good reasons. I'm simply asking you to consider the possibility that while _we_ haven't changed, _they_ might have, and our old knowledge may no longer apply. If there is an army of the Sith out there, or a dark force associated with it, it is our duty to stop it before it spreads like a cancer in this galaxy."

Yoda sighs and observes the paused recording device with tired yellow eyes. "Disturbing, this is, Obi-Wan. Convinced, you are, that this danger is real?"

"I'm convinced Senator Organa is convinced. I sense no deception in him. And…I am very convinced by the recording."

"Hmph. A Sith trap, this still could be."

"The thought has crossed my mind. Do we know where Dooku is?"

"A Separatists convention on Chanosant he prepares to attend. Support for his cause he seeks to expand."

Which still leaves the mysterious Darth Sidious. But if Dooku had told the truth on Geonosis, and Sidious truly was in control of the Senate, chances were he wouldn't abandon Coruscant any time soon, or for very long. "I know it's risky, but I feel we must pursue this matter."

"_Feeling_ a lot, you are. _Thinking_ much less, these days, I have noticed. Be wary, Obi-Wan. Feelings can be misguiding."

How true. "Yes, Master. But I don't believe they are now."

"Correct you are, but comfortable I am not with involving Senator Organa in Jedi business."

"Nor am I, but do we have a choice? He contacts will not speak with anyone else. If I'm to question them about the hyperlane, it will only be through him."

"An important man he has become. Regarded highly by the Supreme Chancellor. To Bail Organa, no harm must come."

"I understand, Master. Although he'll not appreciate a Jedi nursemaid. In that respect he's very like Senator Amidala."

"And like Senator Amidala, accept our protection he will. Strong enough, are you, to undertake this task? Recovered from you injuries, yes, and emotionally sound, I trust you are…but injured you still are. Many weeks of healing, you require. The truth, I must know. Depend on it your life might, and the life of Senator Organa. _Are you able?_"

In other words, _don't be a hero._ Precisely the advice he continuously gives Anakin.

"Vokara Che has said I am healed."

"Healed, not recovered," Yoda corrects sharply, and as if in agreement his body aches briefly. Resisting the urge to scowl, he releases the physical discomfort into the Force.

"I feel fine, Master. Besides, this isn't an all-out battle. It's a recon mission – an investigation."

"Investigations of yours in the past more often than not ended in broken bones and comas."

"Well, yes, but –" But nothing – that's something he can't exactly argue with, and Yoda knows it too. With a smirk, Yoda 'hmphs' loudly.

"Disagree with that you cannot!"

"No, Master," Obi-Wan agrees sheepishly. "But if the situation turns out to be far greater than I can handle, you have my word I will not attempt anything foolish. At the first sign of trouble I will call for reinforcements."

If there are any left, that is. The situation is steadily disintegrating from _spread thin_ to _close to breaking_.

Yoda sighs again, no doubt on the same thought track. "Wish for me to face Vokara Che's wrath, do you? Responsible for my demise, you will be."

"Master Yoda, your altruism continues to amaze and humble me."

"Hmph! Bothers you, your leg does yet."

It will never heal. He may walk without a limp but that takes effort, and a lot of it. The pain will never cease, no matter how many muscle-relaxants he rubs into it or how many times Anakin offers to massage it for him, or how often he uses the Force to ease the tension. But Obi-Wan meet's Yoda's eyes with determination, jaw set. "I've lived ten months with it and been in battle for six. I'm not the cripple I thought I was. And you yourself told me that, by my bedside on Geonosis. That I was not a cripple, that I would walk and run and fight as I used to. And I do. Better, even. You had faith in me then, Master Yoda."

"And faith in your abilities, I still have, but dangerous this may be. Perhaps another Jedi I should send with you."

"That's impossible, I'm afraid, Master. Senator Organa's instructions to me before I left were quite clear: I could consult with other Jedi, even hand the mission over, but only one Jedi will be allowed to accompany him. No more."

"Then follow you someone could. Disappear without a trace you might, Obi-Wan."

He has to smile, but it's hardly humorous. "And who would you send? There's no-one left and we both know it. I will be all right, Master Yoda."

Yoda sighs one more time, and this time it is in defeat. "Very well. Permission you have to follow this lead with Senator Organa, for unravel this new potential Sith mystery we must – and secure the hyperlane, if possible. Your ship's transponder frequency, give to the Temple comm. centre. Out of contact you must not be."

"Of course."

"And take with you a team of clones."

"Senator Organa –"

"Spoke only of one Jedi. Specify other reinforcements he was not to have, did he?"

"Well…no, he didn't."

"A small team we can afford. Go now, and tell Senator Organa you shall accompany him. May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan."

"May the Force be with you, Master Yoda."

He just hopes that the Force truly _will_ be with him.

_Die, Jedi._

* * *

When Obi-Wan returns to Organa – this time in retreat to Cantham House – Padmé and Valorum are absent. Organa offers Obi-Wan an alcoholic drink (declined, naturally) and sits down, turning the secured comm. link to the Friends over and over in his hand restlessly.

"Well?" Organa says, sounding almost amused and unconcerned. "Do I pack myself a spare shirt or don't I?"

Beneath the façade of nonchalance, trepidation and doubt are churning. Obi-Wan meets Organa's tired gaze without hesitation. "Yes, Senator. You do."


	28. Anger Leads To Hate

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on Council orgies and tentacles created and owned by George Lucas. No hot sex is being made and no copyright or wet naked Padawan infringement is intended._

* * *

Okay…my excuse? University, two jobs, and a three-week vacation in Europe. I really hope this chapter makes up for my near-two-month absence with this story! I've missed writing it so much, but good news is my University break will be starting very soon and I'll have a lot more time to dedicate to writing! A massive, _massive_ thank you to the incredible people who graciously took the time to review! This chapter is dedicated to: pronker, Elfgirl9, ILDV, Emerald10, winternightBliSs, ObiBettina7, World's Neighbor, Live4StarWars, ResistanceIsNotFutile, charliebrown1234, maraudersbanana, eukaryote, Shanowa, wolfofsummerbreeze, Helisse, Edyn Shardae, koreto-chan, grace1237, NerdyNel, Cymru na Alethaira, Takianna, Vee017, AmberFirefly, Romennim, DestructiveGlory, AlmaDelCore, CoronaAureola, BiteMeGirl388, hemillsie, Zippay, memorysong, Evarne, Valairy Scot, and mareine. Your comments mean the world to me and I can't begin to thank you enough! I couldn't have made it this far without you.

All recognisable dialogue in this chapter has been taken and adapted from Karen Miller's _Wild Space_. No copyright infringement is intended – my only reason for doing so is to stick to canon as much as I can while giving the story my own twist. Hopefully it's worked out, but I'll leave that up to you guys to decide!

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Twenty-Five –  
Anger Leads To Hate

Organa's ship is entirely unremarkable, designed for economic utility, not luxury. Hardly a ship fit for a Senator and a prince of Alderaan, but sturdy, reliable, and able to plough through layers of Coruscant's atmosphere without incident. They'd filed a false flight plan with Coruscant Space Control. Once clear of its autoracking sensors and will into free space, Organa programs the nav computer with the coordinates to the Roche Asteroids, then turns in the pilot's seat to look at Obi-Wan, neatly tucked in behind and to his right at the console.

"Are you up for this? You look like you're about to pass out."

Feels like it, too. Almost in response, his body aches, and it takes effort to not close his eyes in exhaustion. "I assure you, I am more than capable for this."

Organa looks at him suspiciously before turning back, and makes the jump to lightspeed. The familiar lurch and swirl of the galaxy around him settles rather than startles, and Obi-Wan leans back into his chair and closes his eyes. Just for a moment. A moment, however, is all Organa is going to let him have. "Here," says the Senator, holding out a medi-cup. "Painkillers. You're not looking good. Then you should lie down, we'll be there in two days."

Obi-Wan opens his eyes, the brief moment of suspension gone, and looks out of the cockpit viewport at the lazy swirling of hyperspace, then at the drugs. "No, thank you."

"Take them," Organa insists. "You got blown up a few days ago, in case you forgot."

"Oddly enough, I do recall the incident," he replies, and the corners of Organa's lips twitch. He feels like arguing more, saying that Jedi don't require chemical assistance, but his body aches again and his thigh, worse than it has been in months, protests at movement, and he's tired, so he takes the painkillers and swallows them dry. "Thank you. I shall retire. Please wake me whenever you see fit, or if you need help."

With that, and at Organa's stoic nod, Obi-Wan retreats to the passenger compartment at the rear of the ship. It's claustrophobically small; four economical sleep-bunks built into the gently curving walls, each one concealed behind a self-sealing curtain. He selects the closest cubical, removes his boots, and places them neatly to one side – a habit picked up during the early years of training Anakin, when as a child he'd had nightmares causing Obi-Wan bolt out of bed, only to trip over his boots strewn across the floor. The memory makes him smile at first as he unclips his lightsaber and tosses it beside a pillow, then makes his gut clench. Anakin, as a boy. He's a man now, but it doesn't matter, it's still so very _wrong_. With a frustrated sigh, Obi-Wan unbuckles his belt and drops it beside his boots before rolling onto the mattress which obligingly gives to his weight. One swift tug pulls the curtain closed, a façade of privacy. He closes his eyes and breathes out, and tries not to think of anything.

It's hours before he finally falls asleep.

* * *

Two days takes forever and no time at all to reach the Roche Asteroids…and when they do, there's nothing there. Nothing coming up on their scanners, or on their communications frequency. It's as though no-one has ever been here, or ever will be. Voicing his suspicions that this could be a trap, Organa silences him with a glare heated enough to melt durasteel.

"We will wait for as long as we need to," Organa says firmly. Obi-Wan is on the verge of protesting but the Force isn't warning him that there's something wrong here, so he sighs and sits back, occasionally heading back to check on the Clones and make sure they're all right.

"You know much about this region?" Organa asks after an uneventful hour as they sit a safe distance from the field. Obi-Wan nods, dark memories stirring.

"I know a little. I was involved in settling a dispute here – nearly eighteen years ago now."

"Eighteen years…" Organa chews his lip. "The colfillini mining station dispute? You were involved in that debacle?"

Obi-Wan cocks an eyebrow. "Well, I certainly didn't cause it, if that's what you're asking."

"I know what caused it," says Organa, his eyes burning with memory. "Local organised crime. My uncle was murdered by those scum. Killed in cold blood, just for standing up to thugs who thought working people to death was acceptable economic practice."

_The stench of burned flesh, choking the air – charred, twisted remains of what might have once been a man, burned alive, but no fire can hide the brutal fingerprints of torture – _

Obi-Wan swallows. "The mechanic expert? Tayvor Mandirly? He was your uncle?"

"My mother's youngest brother." Organa grimaces. "She never got over what they did to him. She went half insane with grief, by the end. So you could say they tortured _two_ members of my family to death."

"I'm sorry."

Organa shrugs the condolence aside. "Raxis and Nolid should have paid for what they did."

"They did pay, Senator."

"_Fines_," Organa spits. "_Money_. They should have paid more. They shouldn't have been allowed to buy their way to absolution. You Jedi should've made them pay a _real_ price."

_You Jedi._

Obi-Wan sighs. "We are not executioners, Senator. Nor are we instruments of vengeance. The government of Roche asked us to assist them in apprehending those responsible for outrages committed on the sector's largest colfillini space station in the asteroids, and we did. What happened after that was an internal matter. We are limited by our mandate."

"That's easy for you to say!" retorts Organa. "Did you _see_ what those animals did to Tayvor? Did you _see_ how –"

"Senator, I found him."

_Found him. And for many nights afterward screamed in my sleep, plagued by nightmares. Dreams pass in time, Qui-Gon used to tell me…_

Silenced, Organa stares at him. "I didn't know that," he says at last, subdued. "I never knew the names of the Jedi who went to Roche."

"Yes. Well," he says dryly, "those were the days when the Jedi weren't HoloNet news stars."

"So it was you." Organa shakes his head. "Now there's a coincidence. Small galaxy, isn't it?"

He doesn't believe in coincidences, only the Force, because everything happens for a reason…but even this is a bit random for the Force. "Sometimes it feels that way."

"I suppose now you think I'm uncivilised," says Organa, taking Obi-Wan's silence for disapproval. "After all, no proper peaceful Alderaanian would bay for blood."

Such pain in him. Such grief and loss. Eighteen years, and the anguish hasn't died for Organa. Is this how it is for Anakin, now that Shmi is dead? Perhaps it is the relationship that doesn't let the wound heal. _No attachment_, precisely for this reason. Unless…unless it is the way they died, not the connection. Stolen. Murdered. Ripped from life before their time, leaving those who love them behind to suffer without closure.

_Qui-Gon_.

It's…possible. It's also a troubling thought. The way Anakin acted when he thought he was going to die…he thought they'd moved past the attachment issue, at least for Anakin. But what if it wasn't that Obi-Wan was going to die – rather, the _way_ he was dying? Whatever the answer is, it doesn't matter. He's not supposed to care this much, because caring is what's gotten him into this mess with Anakin. His perennial stumbling block. Because even if it was the way one died, and not the attachment, he would still choose Anakin over everything else, and that frightens him the most of all. Makes him furious at himself the most of all. _Let go_, Yoda preaches. So much easier said than done, he thinks bitterly. Perhaps if he lives a few hundred years more…

"No, Senator, I don't think that," he says. "I think you're a son who loved his mother, and her brother. I think you're a man who despises greed and cruelty. Who burns for justice." Like Anakin. So much like Anakin. So much passion – too much, sometimes, to control. He hesitates, then adds, "Qui-Gon and I also wished they had paid a steeper price."

Organa frowns. "Qui-Gon, who was killed by the Sith on Naboo?"

"That's right."

"Just as a matter of interest, Master Kenobi…what happened to the Sith who murdered your Master?"

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath, ribs twinging from their healed breaks. Lets the air out, very slowly. "I believe you know perfectly well, Senator."

_Rage. Distress. Fear. A single swipe at the creature's midsection. Power. Satisfaction._

He feels ill.

"Master Kenobi –"

"We've been here for over an hour, Senator," Obi-Wan interrupts. "We've not heard any word from these Friends. I think it's time we reconsidered the situation."

"Why?" Organa asks. "We've plenty of supplies. The ship's sound. They're just extremely cautious people – I told you, we will wait for as long as we need to. What is there to consider?"

"Your participation in this mission," he says bluntly. "From what I've deduced, we will be taking the hyperlane run which has killed over thirty people. Seasoned soldiers, scientists, people used to being in combat and life-threatening situations. We don't know what's along that lane, but whatever it is it's very dangerous. My point is, Senator, that it's not safe for you."

Organa fakes shock. "Not safe? Master Kenobi, I had no idea! Why didn't you warn me? Quick! Let's go home!"

"Mock me if you must, Senator," he says, resisting the urge to grit his teeth, "but I would be remiss if I did not point out that while there has been no incident thus far, our circumstances might easily and swiftly alter. It is my mandate to keep you from harm – you're a married Republic senator."

"I'm not turning back," Organa says flatly. "I'm not going to cut and run just because there is danger. I want to aid the Republic and put a face to the faceless people who've been helping me all these years. And to be perfectly frank, Master Kenobi, I'm getting weary of your attitude. Would you be asking Padmé if she wanted to turn back?"

No. But that's Padmé, who has long since proven herself. Organa is man who has never been in or witnessed combat. "Padmé isn't here. I am merely concerned for your safety."

"You let _me_ worry about my safety," Organa advises, which is some of the worst advice Obi-Wan's heard in a while considering the way the man carelessly tosses common sense out of the window. "Besides, I've got a team of Clones to protect me as well. I'm not defenceless."

The problem with being stuck in a very small spaceship, in what amounts to be almost the middle of nowhere, is that one does not simply walk away. _I swear, he's as bad as Anakin. But at least I could tell Anakin to be quiet and do as he was told, and he had to obey me. Not that he actually _would_, but the principle was there…_

"Very well, Senator," he says, half defeated. "It's your decision. I can only hope you don't come to regret it."

Before Organa can reply, his comm. link buzzes. A glance is shared as Organa answers, and the sound of a human voice fills the cockpit. Mature. Female. Confident.

"_Senator Organa, do you copy?"_

"Yes! Yes, I copy. I hear you. Who is this? Who am I speaking to?" He sounds ridiculously excited; were Obi-Wan a lesser man, he'd have snorted.

"_A friend."_

"Yes, I know that. But –"

"_Names can wait, Senator. I'll introduce myself properly when we meet."_

Organa is gripping the comm. link so tightly he looks to be in danger of breaking it. "I've been looking forward to that. Where are you? Somewhere close?"

"_Close enough,"_ the woman says, voice tinged with amusement.

"I thought something had gone wrong – we aren't picking up any activity here. I thought you had a base here –?"

"_A precaution. We wanted to be certain you were truly alone before allowing you to see us face-to-face."_

Organa frowns. "Of course I'm alone. Well, aside from – from the Jedi who's accompanied me, and the small Clone team. Surely you know by now that I honour our arrangement to the letter."

"_Nevertheless. These are dangerous times, Senator. It doesn't pay to take anything or anyone for granted. Not even you. Not even the Jedi."_

"I appreciate that," Organa says after a moment. "And I hope you know I don't take you for granted. What you've done – what you're doing now –"

"_Thanks can wait too, Senator,"_ says the woman. _"Let's focus on matters at hand. Stand by. You'll see us in a moment. We'll bring you in with the tractor beam."_

As the connection is dropped into a static buzz, the dashboard bursts to life, picking up communication signals in a flood. A gentle jolt and the ship starts being pulled towards the closest asteroid. Organa muffles a curse but Obi-Wan just watches the asteroid which is emitting the tractor beam, and realises swiftly that for all appearances, it isn't actually an asteroid at all. A space station, massive, camouflaged almost perfectly with its surroundings, and impossible to locate unless one has exact coordinates and knows what it is they're looking for. He should have sensed it before.

"Over there. Look," Obi-Wan says, pointing, and finally Organa sees it too, the small opening of the hangar.

"Remarkable…" Organa whispers.

The cruiser is directed gently into the only hangar they can see intended for a ship the size of Organa's. Not massive by any means, but certainly larger than a starfighter. The hangar is also eerily empty when they're eased in awkwardly, gliding like a brick. Another gentle jolt and they've landed.

One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. The Clones onboard wait behind them for instructions, and Obi-Wan opens the boarding ramp. "I suggest we meet these Friends."

"After you," Organa drawls, and it takes his lifetime of training to not roll his eyes. Followed by their six Clone companions, they make their way to the boarding ramp and slowly filter into the empty hangar. Caution lingers his step and breath, wary of the lack of activity, and the intercom crackles to life.

"_Put your weapons down where they are visible."_

Organa hesitates before dropping his gun to the floor, holding out his arms as if he thinks he is to be searched. So trusting. This man will never survive in a warzone.

"_Put your weapons down where they are visible. I will not repeat myself again."_

Obi-Wan sighs. "Disarm, men," he orders the Clones, and they each drop their main weapons to the ground before them, the silence of the hanger filled with clattering. Slowly, Obi-Wan detaches his lightsaber and places it on the floor next to Organa's gun, and instantly he feels like he's just dropped his arm on the floor, or a leg. The lightsaber is an extension of himself – it's so close, and yet he mustn't touch it. _This weapon is your life._ But he doesn't sense any immediate danger, not to himself or Organa or his six Clones. So he stands still, patient, while these mysterious Friends of the Republic do whatever it is they're doing.

"_Identities confirmed. Remain where you are."_

Organa exhales loudly, and a moment later the blast doors open. A single figure hovers in the doorway then strides towards them, presence full of command. "You may retrieve your weapons."

Instead of using the Force to pull it back into his slightly trembling hand which aches to grasp it, Obi-Wan leans over and picks the lightsaber up, savouring the feel of cool metal against his rough hand before clipping it back onto his belt, then focuses on the approaching woman who stops before them, one hand resting on the blaster slung around her waist.

She has an athlete's physique. Clothed in a sleek black bodysuit which would have looked embarrassing on any other woman her age, nearing sixty, her appearance exudes determination and courage; grey hair pulled back into a stern long braid, posture tall and imposing. But her eyes tell a different story – even her admirable presentation can't hide the exhaustion lingering there, the wrinkles of decades of burdens deep set around them, and through the Force Obi-Wan feels an ache. A sense of loss. This woman is grieving, and there's nothing to tell for it except that imperceptible flicker in her eyes.

"Organa," she greets, and turns a comm. link over in her hand. A signal. A gesture, to tell Organa that she is indeed his mysterious benefactor.

"Yes," Organa says. "Will you tell me your name now?"

"Alinta Terran," she replies. "I'm the Commander of the Friends of the Republic. It's good to finally meet you in person."

"Likewise," he manages to say.

She raises an eyebrow. "Am I not quite what you expected?"

Organa flushes. "No, I simply assumed –"

"That I'd be younger?"

The only indication that Alinta is teasing is the subtle lilt in her voice. Organa remains silent and embarrassed, and after a beat she takes pity on him. "So, I ask you to bring a Jedi and you bring me Obi-Wan Kenobi. I'm impressed," she tells Organa, then turns to face Obi-Wan. "It is an honour to meet you, Master Jedi. As you can see, we are a legitimate organisation."

Perceptive as well, clearly having picked up on his reservations of the elusive group. He shakes her hand slowly. "Legitimate, but obscure. I confess I'd never heard of you before this."

"I'd be very worried if you had. Our work relies on the utmost secrecy and stealth, as I'm sure you can appreciate."

"I do."

Although tinged with pain, her sharp eyes rake in his cautious posture. "Is something else bothering you, before we continue?"

"Forgive me, Commander, but I must ask you – would it not have been more practical to have let me bring more Jedi for backup? I am only one man."

Alinta smiles humourlessly. "Who else could you bring, Master Kenobi? It was pure luck we were able to get you – and you are far more than just a man. Skywalker's presence would have been appreciated but where he is now is far more important." She pauses. "I'm sure you understand."

It takes about half a second to, but he does. Classified information, and she knows Anakin's whereabouts and mission – either it's a massive security breach, or she had prior knowledge. "You –" Obi-Wan starts, then clears his throat. "Of course. Thank you," he says instead, and she smiles again.

"And you."

And him, for what? Passing on her message? The glint in her eyes answers that for him. Alinta leads them towards the blast doors.

"Is there any chance the Separatists are aware of your work here?" Obi-Wan asks.

"No," Alinta says firmly. "We have the strictest security measures in place – if we didn't want you to find us, I can assure you that you would not have been able to. The hyperlane is uncompromised, as is our presence." They stride slowly through a quiet corridor. "You are already aware of the situation, of course. Allow me to fill you in on a few more details."

She pauses, and glances back towards Organa.

"If you accept, your mission is to run the lane, find the threat, and neutralise it. It's taken us months to construct the lane, but up until about three weeks ago we'd never tested it. The first two teams were canon fodder teams, disappearing one after the other. The third team were the only ones we could afford at the time, a bunch of amateurs. Gone as well. We lost contact with the last team three days ago, almost four. They were Echo Rescue Unit (1) – one of our finest. On the recording you heard, we managed to identify only two of the voices. The male's voice is Gerald Su'Lac, the captain of the team – Echo Leader. If it were not for voice recognition devices, I'd swear it wasn't him. The Gerald Su'Lac I knew would never have…"

Alinta trails off, shoulders tensing.

"And the woman?" Obi-Wan presses, and this snaps her back into speech.

"Bria-Lin Terran, his second-in-command. My daughter."

Bail's breath catches in his throat. "Alinta…" he says, moving forward. He looks like he wants to place his hand on her arm, or hug her or something, to console her for her loss. "I'm so sorry –"

"Commander Terran, is there anything else we need to know about the lane before we take the run?" Obi-Wan interrupts swiftly. He feels like a bastard but it's the right thing to do at the moment; Alinta may not be showing any outward emotion but the last thing she wants, he can feel through the Force, is to be consoled when she herself has yet to come to terms with her daughter's end. Her eyes soften in gratitude, ever so slightly, but Bail grabs Obi-Wan's arm and pulls him aside.

"Excuse us a moment," he says to Alinta, then rounds on Obi-Wan like a starving Kath Hound. "What's wrong with you?" he growls in a hushed tone. "Some people say the Jedi are heartless – are you trying to prove them right? The woman's daughter is missing, possibly dead, and you can't even –"

"Senator Organa." Bail falls silent, clenching his jaw to turn back to Alinta. Her eyes are emotionless as she moves forward. "Do you accept the mission?"

"Yes."

"And you, Master Kenobi?"

"I do."

"Then keep this in mind: it is not a rescue mission, or a recovery mission," she tells him sternly. "Your only task is to secure the hyperlane for the Republic. Do you understand?"

Organa's lips form a thin line in dismay. "Yes," he grits out, "I do."

Alinta nods sharply, ignoring the hostility. "Good. I wish I had more information to give you, but…"

"I understand, Commander," Obi-Wan tells her. "What shall happen if we are unsuccessful?"

"Then you are unsuccessful, and our efforts on this hyperlane must be abandoned. It is quickly becoming a liability instead of an asset." Curt, like a leader who understands sacrifice. Alinta Terran is the Commander for a reason; not heartless, just ruled by common sense. So like a Jedi, and the person he currently isn't. "You leave in twenty minutes. Get ready." Alinta pauses. "May the Force be with you both."

* * *

"I don't understand," Organa mutters for the fifth time in an hour. "She's lost her daughter and she _refuses to send anyone out after her?_ What kind of parent would act that way?"

Obi-Wan sighs, keeping his eyes on the swirls of hyperspace. "Senator…"

"Don't 'Senator' me, Master Kenobi!" Organa snaps. "You don't understand either – you, whose mother gave you up to your Order – didn't she love you? Doesn't Alinta love her daughter?"

So it's going to be one of _those_ talks. "It isn't like that, Senator."

"Then pray tell, just how _is_ it like?"

It's hard to explain this to non-Jedi – ordinary men and women who don't understand the Order. Sometimes it's just a matter of communication – other times, it's like fighting against an ingrained set of values, and when he's up against that he barely knows why he bothers. Some outsiders are incapable of understanding. "Alinta is the leader of an army of mercenaries and loyalists," he explains. "It's her life's duty to aid the Republic however she can – and that means putting democracy and her loyalty to the very Republic she has sworn to serve before everything and anything else. Including family and loved ones."

_Especially loved ones._

Organa pulls a disgusted face. "I've never heard anything more cold in my life –"

"It isn't to say she doesn't feel. She was hiding her emotions well but I could sense them – she's grieving. She's angry and fearful, as any mother would be to have their child go missing, but that doesn't mean she loves her daughter any less just because she's chosen her duty over her personal feelings."

Sitting back, Organa eyes him warily. "You seem to know a lot about this subject."

"It's my life, Senator Organa. Did you think I don't have friends, or people I –" _Love._ "– I am fond of?"

"I thought there was no emotion for you people."

_You people. You Jedi._

A spark of anger, not pushed away quickly enough.

"_Us people_, Senator, are still human," he says sharply. "There are many different ways of caring. Surely you're not so arrogant as to claim your way is superior to everyone else's? As for whether or not my mother loved me, I believe she did. She certainly loved me enough to give me to the Order."

"That's love?"

"Do you know what happens to a Force Sensitive when they aren't trained to hone their gift? It becomes a curse. A terrible curse. Imagine a constant battle, of light and darkness – good and evil – in your mind. The world that's opened up to you – the power to do whatever you want. To influence someone's mind, to stop someone from dying…or to kill them with a single thought. The Force is dangerous because it gives an untrained person the idea that they are entitled to power. The Jedi are guided, are aware of the responsibilities we have. If a child is extremely Force Sensitive, I say a parent loves their child more if they have the strength and understanding that it's in the child's best interests if they give them to the Jedi Order."

"Huh," Organa says after a beat. "You know, for a Jedi you're a very good debater. You ought to consider a career in the Senate."

He nearly shudders.

"But you must admit, Master Kenobi, that it's not exactly a normal life."

"That would depend on how you define normal. Just because a child is given to the Temple doesn't mean that they are kept there against their will. The Temple is not a prison. It is a home. A school."

Organa is silent for a long moment. "Do you ever wish you weren't a Jedi? Or ever considered what it might be like to have a different life?"

A different life. In a flash he can see the green grass field of Stewjon and taste the sweet native fruit, as a child, beside a boy he thinks is his biological brother – the whispers of his mother's voice, a lullaby. Free to love. Siri. Satine. Taria.

Anakin.

_Yes,_ he is tempted to say. _Yes, I have – I do._

But he remembers where he is, and more importantly _who_ he is, and answers, "No. I am content with my life."

_Liar._

"How can you be content with it when you've never known anything else?" Organa asks, frowning, then turns away to check the ship's progress. "Indoctrination, I call it," he mumbles, and Obi-Wan isn't sure how to reply.

_I am a Jedi. We do not take such things personally._

They don't attempt to slam doors, either.

* * *

Day two in hyperspace, and progress remains normal. Communications are clear and active, and the systems are monitoring normal activity outside. And yet he can't shake that vile sense of dread, the feeling that something will inevitably go wrong. His Bad Feeling, but…worse. Suppressing a sickening jolt, his eyes rake the gathering the main area, then starts in surprise. Five Clones. Not six. He counts them again. "Has anyone seen Huntsman?"

"He checked in last night, sir," answers a Clone from the back.

"And since then?"

"Not a word, sir."

"No-one's contacted him on his comm. link?"

"We've tried, sir. He isn't answering."

Obi-Wan frowns. "This isn't a very large ship, he can't have gotten lost. Spread out, find him, and return to this point in twenty minutes.

"And if we can't find him by then, sir?"

"We'll deal with that if it happens."

His team of five Clones, down from six, salutes him and splits up to search the ship, leaving Organa and Obi-Wan alone. "This is worrying, Senator," Obi-Wan says softly. "Clones don't just go missing for no good reason."

"Perhaps there is a good reason," Organa says, trying to sound clever. Obi-Wan doesn't give him the satisfaction of frustration, as much of it as he really does feel.

"Perhaps," he says, stroking his beard, "but without alerting another Clone or the commanding Jedi officer on board? I've never heard of that happening."

Twenty minutes pass by in the blink of an eye, and when they all rejoin, they're still one Clone short.

* * *

"Hold on!"

He's dreaming. He knows he's dreaming. This has already happened – Anakin and Padmé obeying his order and grabbing handles on the speeding vehicle. But the knowledge is swamped by the urgency of the moment, and he takes his own advice to grasp a handle tightly on the LAAT/i as another hid from the droid army jerks the vehicle.

The speed, the wind, the harsh cuts of sand on his face – it's all too familiar and he feels sick as Anakin makes the call to shoot the fuel cells. Anakin is younger here, hair cut short and his Padawan braid lashing in the air, casting a lover's gaze over towards Padmé. The battle, and the sound and scent of death, are quickly left behind as they speed ahead – "Look, over there!" he hears himself cry, pointing towards a small speeder flanked by two fighters tearing across the sand dunes.

"It's Dooku. Shoot him down!" Anakin orders, but they're out of rockets, and Anakin tells the Clone pilot to follow instead.

He can stop this. He can stop this all from happening again. All he has to do is wake up, and it shouldn't be this hard but it is. He _can't_ wake up, not even when they are jolted violently by another hit – the hit that sends Padmé falling from the LAAT/i with a startled cry.

"PADMÉ!" Anakin looks like he's ready to jump after her, but he rounds on the pilot instead. "Put the ship down!"

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan snaps, jumping in front of him. "Don't let your personal feelings get in the way!"

"Lower the ship!" Anakin screams again.

_Not again. Not again. Please – _"I can't take Dooku alone! _I need you!_" _Listen to me this time, Anakin, don't leave me –_ "If we catch him we can end this war right now! We have a job to do!"

_"I don't care!"_

Before Anakin can jump, before he has to face Dooku on his own and relive the agony of a lightsaber plunging through his shoulder and thigh, the sand disappears and the rocky, brutal terrain of Geonosis melts into space. Drifting, there and yet not there, he is powerless to escape the vision of three Republic cruisers holding their own, only just and almost not, against a merciless enemy barrage. Protecting a small planet; small, but one of the most important in this war. Protecting Bothawui.

It looks hopeless. A rout. A pointless, wasteful slaughter. _Oh, Anakin, I warned you, I told you to turn back for reinforcements, why don't you ever listen to me –_

But he should know better than to doubt, because of course Anakin has a plan – lurching out of the shadows on the asteroids, now behind Grievous's fleet, is an entire army of landwalkers, led by Rex, and open fire on the unsuspecting enemy, trapping them. Outflanked, outgunned, outwitted – this will be the Republic's victory. _Anakin's_ victory. He's done it. He's _done_ it, insane and completely risky, the exact thing Obi-Wan warned him against doing, but it's _working_.

One small ship escapes the fire, tearing out and cutting across the yellow starfighter – _Grievous!_ – and Anakin rips after him, drawing closer. Closer. Closer – but there's something wrong with the wing, and as the remains of Grievous's droid army fleet disintegrates behind him he loses control, spinning wildly towards the asteroids – _no, Anakin, no, no –_

"Anakin, _Anakin_ –"

But the sand and wind is gone all of a sudden, and sweaty sheets are twisted about his body. Beside him, Organa withdraws his hand.

"Not Anakin, I'm afraid. Just me."

"Organa?" Obi-Wan asks stupidly, sitting up in his narrow bunk, heart pounding erratically.

"Well, don't sound too happy. You were having a nightmare. I woke you up."

Obi-Wan rubs his watery eyes with his palms. Perhaps it's a good thing Organa did so. He hasn't dreamt for months – not since coming back from Dantooine. Nor has he had visions in such startling clarity. Instinctively he reaches out across the bond, desperate to find Anakin's presence, desperate to know that he's still alive, that he's all right, even as guilt floods him for his dependency and inability to let go. But Anakin's there – muted, from the distance, but he's there, and alive. He swallows shakily, and tries to hide his distress from the Senator. "How long had I been sleeping for?"

"Not long. Only two hours. We'll be hitting Wild Space in less than three, though."

Two hours – which means they've been travelling for two days. Has it only been that already? It feels like years.

"I didn't think Jedi had bad dreams."

"Everyone has bad dreams occasionally. They pass in time."

Organa looks at him suspiciously but thankfully doesn't press.

_Dreams pass in time…you fool. Even after all these months, after Anakin's mother and your own hysteria, you still cling to that Force-forsaken mantra? Qui-Gon was wrong. Dreams _don't_ pass in time._

A flash of bitterness, flooding his system.

"There's a transmission from the Jedi Temple waiting for you," Organa says.

_Anakin._ His heart thuds. "Thank you," he mutters, and grabs his robe on his way out.

_I need you –_

_I don't care –_

He shakes himself. _Don't think about that. It's over – what's wrong with you?_

In mocking response, his leg throbs.

* * *

It's with mixed feelings Anakin contacts Obi-Wan once cleared from bed rest.

On one hand, he saved Bothawui. Him and his 501st. As arrogant and cocky as he is sometimes, it was no small feat. It's all right to feel a bit of pride. (Okay, a lot, but whatever.) His first solo mission in the wars, his own command, his own fleet, minimum casualties – proof that he isn't a Padawan learner anymore. Proof that he deserves his Knighthood.

On the other…he lost R2-D2, and can hardly wait for Obi-Wan's reaction to _that_. There's that ever-growing sense of trepidation, and, yes, he is a little ashamed for the way he acted the last time they spoke. It had been childish, but damn it he'd been _angry_, and still is – just not as much. The anger has given way to nervousness, a sense of dread he hasn't felt since Geonosis. Is this how it's going to be every time he speaks to Obi-Wan from now on? Will it never be the way it was? The thought is like a punch to gut and his hand clenches at the side of his beige tunic. And yet, the more he thinks about it, the more convinced he becomes that Obi-Wan is hiding something, because Obi-Wan Kenobi doesn't act like _that_ for no reason.

It's Yoda he reaches at the Temple, and Yoda who reroutes the signal. When Obi-Wan answers, stepping into the transmitter field, Anakin swallows a jolt of worry. Obi-Wan looks…different. The serenity is nothing but a flimsy façade – there's something troubling him, weighing him down heavily. "Obi-Wan," he greets neutrally. "Where are you? I transmitted through to the Temple but Master Yoda rerouted the signal."

"_I'm running an errand,"_ Obi-Wan replies dismissively. _"So, you're in one piece after all. How did you manage that?"_

"In one piece?" Anakin repeats, surprised. "You mean you know –"

"_Of course."_ Obi-Wan manages a smile, somehow sounding bored at the same time. Well. Of course. The bond. _"But why are you reporting to me and not the Council?"_

"Master Yoda's here," Anakin mumbles, and resists the urge to rub the back of his neck. As much as he respects Yoda, his presence makes things far more complicated. "And old habits die hard, I guess."

"_It's a shame about your starfighter. It's not like they grow on trees, you know."_

Maybe it's a joke, but it still stings. Another scolding – it's like nothing he does will ever be enough. Well, fine. Let Obi-Wan feel that way. It's not his problem anymore – he's done everything he can to prove himself and has done just that, time and time again, and he's a Knight, not a Padawan. It's Obi-Wan's problem, but at the moment Obi-Wan is having _issues_, and Anakin is only the _young one_. But instead of getting annoyed, Anakin simply sighs. "Sorry."

Obi-Wan's expression softens. _"Don't apologise. You saved Bothawui. With boldness and daring, against significant odds. Congratulations, Anakin. Your resourcefulness always amazes me. And I am relieved to see you're all right."_

_What_ is going on? One moment he's cold and scolding, and the next he's open and caring. He's having enough of Obi-Wan's stupid mood swings and mixed signals. He doesn't _get_ it. For once, he wishes the irritating man would just make up his bloody mind and stop playing with Anakin's emotions the way he is. No-one else has this insane ability, and if Obi-Wan doesn't stop abusing it soon he feels like he's going to lose his mind. Of course, that's hardly relevant _now_. He doesn't want to imagine the look on Obi-Wan's face when he tells him about Artoo. "Thank you, Master."

A tickle of unease. Obi-Wan will have expected him to grin and respond with a typical cocky, inappropriate comment.

"_You look troubled."_

"I lost Artoo in the field," he confesses, "but – I could take a squad out there, track him down."

"_Easily replaced, Artoo units are,"_ Yoda's holopresence says, reprimanding and sympathetic at the same time, but Obi-Wan is silent. _"Unacceptable, this level of attachment is, for a Jedi."_

Yoda doesn't understand, not really. Yes, he's attached to Artoo, ridiculously so – Artoo is his friend, not just a jumble of wires. A droid with a personality – unusual but not unheard of. And he is Padmé's droid. There's always going to be that sense of longing for Padmé; it's muted, almost replaced by his need for Obi-Wan, but Padmé's place in his life will never leave him.

But Obi-Wan understands. Arms crossed and face impassive, Anakin waits for the lightsaber to fall.

"_Anakin…I know you have a bad habit of 'forgetting' to wipe the droid's mind."_

He winces.

"_Please tell me he isn't still programmed with our tactics and base locations."_

Silence answers the question.

"_Anakin, what possessed you to not erase that droid's memory?"_ Obi-Wan exclaims, sounding hysterical and disappointed at the same time.

"Sometimes Artoo having that extra information comes in handy – and you know it!" Anakin snaps back, straight on the defence. "Him _having_ his memory is what makes him so useful! He's gathered skills that have helped us on missions thousands of times."

Even Obi-Wan, in all his PMSing moods, can't deny this. He doesn't – he just sighs loudly in exasperation and rubs his head, not answering. Anakin glares.

"_The droid, you must find,"_ Yoda says flatly. _"Rely on it, many Jedi do. Inform the Council, engaged you are in post-mission operation, I will."_

"_But handle this quickly, Anakin. Time is not on our side,"_ Obi-Wan finishes, colder than ever.

"Yes, Masters," he says, then focuses on Obi-Wan. "What kind of errand are you on?"

"_The irrelevant kind,"_ Obi-Wan says repressively, and that's practically an insult because Anakin may be many things, but stupid is not one of them. If Obi-Wan is going to lie, he should make it more convincing because the truth is far more obvious. He wants to shout at Obi-Wan, reach through the holotransmitter, grab his shoulders and _shake_ him, the stupid, careless man –

"You're on a mission," he says, and Obi-Wan sighs.

"_Anakin –"_

Something snaps. "You let him go on a mission?" Anakin rages, rounding on Yoda's holoimage. "I know you're old but you're not senile _yet!_ He nearly _died_ last week – what's wrong with you? Wasn't there anybody else? He's –"

"_Standing right here and can speak for himself,"_ Obi-Wan says coldly.

"Obi-Wan –"

"_I am not a _cripple_, Knight Skywalker," _Obi-Wan just about spits. It's so unnatural, coming from him, and for a moment he doesn't look like Obi-Wan Kenobi at all._ "Were you hoping I would remain Temple-bound until you returned? Upset that you're not here to protect me? I'm so terribly sorry to disappoint you, Anakin, but might I remind you that if you cared _half_ as much about my wellbeing on Geonosis then you wouldn't have to _worry about me at all now_! You have _never_ known how to prioritise –"_

That's not fair, that's not – "You bastard, how _dare_ you –"

"_How dare I what? Remind you? You have a duty, Anakin, and it's high time you started doing it, because this time it's not my life that depends on it, it's the Repu-ic – and – y-…need to st-…focu-…"_

With a crackle, Obi-Wan's image blurs and disappears.

"Obi-Wan?" he says shakily, adjusting his transmitter controls with trembling hands. "Come in, Obi-Wan."

Silence.

"_Anakin."_

He jumps, startled. Yoda's holopresence peers at him, eyes strangely concerned.

"_Lost, his signal is."_

Lost. "He hates me," Anakin says numbly. Perhaps Palpatine _was_ right, all those months ago –

"_Very unusual for Obi-Wan, that was. Troubles me deeply, his behaviour does."_

Unusual. That's an understatement. It's _alien_. _Unheard_ of. The only time he'd seen Obi-Wan snap like that was on Dantooine, and again on Coruscant shortly after their return, and that was because of his leg and the way Anakin was unknowingly acting. But it's been months, _months_, since then, and there's no _reason_, no hint of anything other than _Jedi can't have attachments_ –

"_Anakin,"_ Yoda says again, but Anakin feels his throat close up and he turns his face away. He's not going to cry. He's not. He _isn't_, damn it.

"I don't – I don't understand."

"_Hate you, Obi-Wan does not. Incapable of hatred, he is. If anything, loves you too much, he does."_

Bull-bloody-_shit_. After what he just heard, straight from Obi-Wan's mouth? Old _and_ senile, is what Yoda is, spouting off that complete and utter load of –

_Sense._

Anakin gapes at where Obi-Wan stood just seconds ago. Of course. Of _course._

_Anakin, I – I care for you, far more than I should._

Because he _knows_ Obi-Wan loves him. He's said so himself, and Obi-Wan Kenobi never has, doesn't, and never will lie. Ten months of freely admitting that, and then suddenly turning on his heel? That doesn't make sense. The only explanation Anakin can think of for Obi-Wan's actions is that he backed away because he's frightened, and that means that something changed, but not in the way Anakin _thought_ it had –

"_Anakin."_

Right. R2-D2. He can't think about the situation with Obi-Wan now, not with the war, but the realisation has sent his heart pounding in his chest, flooding hope throughout his body. With a few parting words and a mutual "may the Force be with you," Yoda leaves Anakin to his task. And for the first time in more than a week, he allows himself a small, hopeful smile.

* * *

Clutching the transmitter, he struggles to breathe.

_This isn't you. This isn't you. _

He never loses control. Certainly never like that. And throwing back the past in Anakin's face, so brutally? He hasn't felt like that since before the Battle of Muunilinst, six months ago.

_I need you –_

_I don't care!_

He's over this. He's past this. He doesn't resent Anakin for that mistake, all those months ago on Geonosis, he doesn't resent him, he doesn't, he doesn't, he _doesn't_ –

His leg cramps and he stifles a grunt, clutching his thigh. Useless. Never good enough. Not strong enough. His body aches, remnants of his injuries from the bombings. Not fast enough. Couldn't sense anything. He's a cripple, in body and in mind. Anakin's face, horrified and hurt and betrayed because of the things Obi-Wan said, things he doesn't understand and should never have to. His fists clench, nails digging into his palms. _Never good enough._ Not fast enough to save Qui-Gon on Naboo. He should have been a better Padawan to Qui-Gon, and a better Master to Anakin, because Anakin deserves someone who wouldn't…wouldn't –

The ship lurches and Obi-Wan pitches forward in momentum, only just managing to throw out his arms to brace his fall. "What in the name of –"

Warning sirens fill the cabin and Organa stumbles in. "Master Kenobi –"

Obi-Wan supports himself against the wall. "Senator. What was that?"

"I don't know. We –"

A Clone – Ranger – rushes into the cabin, followed by his brothers. "We just lost hyperspeed!" he exclaims. "There's no explanation – it's as though the engine just cut out, sir!"

"What?" Organa snaps. "That's ridiculous!"

"I agree, sir, but it's true. We're at a normal speed now, and slowing. We can't find the problem, sir. We're stuck."

Not what he wants to hear at all. Obi-Wan takes a deep breath. "How far along the lane are we?"

"Nearly halfway," Ranger responds, pointing out their position on a holodiagram.

"And our communications? What's our status? Report, Ranger. Can we send out a distress signal?"

"Negative, sir. All communications are shot, or jammed. Again, there's no explanation. Shampoo here," he nods at a Clone on his far left, "is a seasoned mechanic – if he can't find the problem, no-one can."

_So we're trapped. Stuck, in the middle of space, with no communications and no way to travel._ His stomach lurches in fear.

"Jammed? Jammed from _what?_" Organa demands, and Obi-Wan glances out of the viewport.

"That, I suspect," Obi-Wan says, pointing. Organa squints in the direction.

"And what, pray tell, _is_ that?"

'That' is a fog-like apparition, covering the expanse of the small slice of galaxy they can see from the viewport. Grey and brown in colour, it hangs almost innocently in space. "Honestly, Senator? I have no idea." He considers it for a moment. "It may be an immature nebula. The can be difficult to pick up on scanners – it may be why Alinta didn't tell us about it."

But that isn't right. It _looks_ like a nebula, but…it doesn't _feel_ like one. He shifts uneasily, wondering how to translate the thought to speech.

"Are nebulas known for knocking out communications and jolting cruisers out of lightspeed?" Organa queries.

"There's a first for everything, Senator," Obi-Wan murmurs absently, then turns to face the four Clones.

_Four?_

"Who's missing now?"

"Jackson," is the prompt reply. "Haven't seen him for nearly two hours, sir."

Obi-Wan frowns heavily. "Two Clones missing. I take it these disappearing acts are unusual for this unit?"

"Very, sir. We're…we're worried about them."

Emotion. Even Clones, genetically modified so that they _wouldn't_ form unnecessary attachments, are capable of fear for their brothers. There's something touching in that soft confession, one that strikes home for Obi-Wan. A sense of loss, that in all his years as a Jedi, holding everyone away at arm's length, he's missed out on something. Cold tendrils of resentment curl around his heart.

_Focus!_

The Clones. He's worried too. This isn't _normal_. But he smothers the tremors of fear and his anger at himself behind a cover of serenity and wisdom. Always acting. Always putting on a show. Always being a Jedi. Trying. Often…failing. "As I said before, this is a small ship. They'll turn up somewhere. But we can't look for them tonight. The situation is that we're stuck, and we won't be continuing until whatever problem with the engine is fixed. I suggest we take a rest. We're all tired and not thinking clearly. We can think of a solution in the morning, to both the missing troopers and the hyperdrive. In the meantime, you are to stay in pairs. Do not let your partner out of sight."

Slowly they filter out to their respective cabins. Organa waits for Obi-Wan in the doorway as he looks out the viewport window at the nebula, hovering innocently. There's something almost beautiful about the haze. Swirls of dust, merging together and parting in a constant, seductive dance, reaching out, calling…

"Obi-Wan," a voice sounds from behind him, and he turns, wrenching his gaze from the fog painfully.

"Yes?"

Organa blinks, then looks around the empty cabin. "What?"

"You said my name."

"I didn't say anything."

Obi-Wan rubs his temples. His own mind, constantly playing tricks on him. He was wrong, when he told Yoda he would be able to handle this mission. He's too damaged, too emotional, too _old_ for this. _I'm losing my grip on reality…steadily, but surely._

"I must be more tired than I suspected. We should retire," he says softly. Thankfully, Organa doesn't argue.

* * *

When he wakes up Force knows how many hours later, he realises straight away that something is very, very wrong.

The chill of space is a distinct feeling – a seeping presence which filters through his bones, all the way to his core. _This _cold – he wrenches his eyes open and inhales sharply, and the icy air makes his lungs cringe. Stiffly he pushes himself off the bed, joints aching and refusing to move freely.

_What…?_

Frost clings to every surface of the cabin, like an average day on Hoth. His mind doesn't have time to analyse this – all he can immediately think of is that no human body can withstand these temperatures without proper clothes, which he and Organa certainly aren't wearing – _the Senator._ In a panicked movement, Obi-Wan focuses on Organa's immobile figure, curled up on his bed, eyes stinging. Condensation pours from his mouth into the chilled air as he reaches out to shake him. "Or-Organa," Obi-Wan hisses through chattering teeth, tugging his robe around his body more tightly. "_Organa!_"

_Don't let him be hypothermic._

Organa groans and pries his frost-encrusted eyelids open, eyelashes sticking together. "What in the name of –" Organa swears, then begins to shiver uncontrollably. The blanket on his small bed is a useless defence against the cold, but Organa tugs it around his body anyway, searching for warmth.

"One of the missing Clones," Obi-Wan realises. "They m-must be…c-controlling the temperature levels."

"But why?"

_The nebula. Which isn't actually a nebula. It's something else. Something else that's making these things happen._

But he doesn't say this; Organa's eyes are closing, so he reaches out and shakes the Senator's shoulder sharply again, fingers burning in the cold. "S-stay awake," Obi-Wan mutters through his chattering teeth. "D-don't sleep. You won't wake up again. Y-you'll die. I can't _help_ you. I can't do _anything_. Do you understand? I w-won't be able to help you."

The Senator struggles with himself, trying to move, and foggily focuses on Obi-Wan. "I c-can't…can't…" Organa whispers, and he loses the battle, stilling, and eyes drifting shut.

Silence.

_No. No._

He turns his head painfully towards the transparisteel viewing window. He stares, transfixed, at the nebula, or fog, or whatever it is, and shivers as a cold not belonging to the temperature of the cabin whispers against his skin. Perhaps it's his own mind, a result of hypothermic insanity, but he hears laughter, vulgar triumphant laughter, and a murmur. A constant murmur, pulsating from the fog. He strains himself, trying to listen…

…_hear me, Jidai…_

Terror. Rotting his mind, filling his bloodstream. _Hatred._

Then darkness.

* * *

_Obi-Wan._

Like a Geonosian mosquito, the sound prods at his mind unwelcomingly. The haze of his unconsciousness barely lifts. He's so _tired…_

_Obi-Wan._

A hand on his shoulder. Probably Organa, the irritating man. Obi-Wan tries to push him away. _Let me sleep._

_Obi-Wan?_

"G'way," he mumbles into his pillow, and draws the sheets around him tightly.

"Padawan!"

His eyes snap open, and a heavy, familiar hand grips his shoulder.

"Wake up, Obi-Wan. You're too old to be sleeping in like this."

Obi-Wan blinks blearily at the figure hovering over him, and in increasing disbelief he blurts out, "Master?"

* * *

(1) Echo Rescue Unit is my own creation; you will find no reference to it in canon. If you are interested in the story of Echo Rescue Unit's doomed mission along the hyperlane, please do check out the spin-off story, _Salvation Run_, which can be found here on FanFiction(dot)Net. It's currently a WIP but it introduces a character who will make an appearance in _From The Ashes_. Not telling who! That'll be spoiling two stories at once. However, knowledge of _Salvation Run_ is not essential to understanding what's going on in _From The Ashes_.

* * *

Sneak peek for Chapter Twenty-Six ("Hate Leads To Suffering"):

"_What is this?" Bail breathes, voice trembling._

What is this?_ Obi-Wan shivers, then finds himself gasping for air, mirthless laughter being sucked out of him – his lungs ache with the effort and his throat is raw and his eyes are wet. His own hysterical sound reaches his ears, and from his blurred eyes he sees Bail recoil._

"_This?" he chokes, sounding half-mad to himself. "This…oh, Bail, if only you knew. If only…"_


	29. Hate Leads To Suffering, Part One

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

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* * *

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I am _so sorry_ for how long it's taken for this chapter to come up! Even though I'm now on University break, I took on a temporary full-time position at work, and during that time I lacked the energy to write! I spent most of this weekend furiously hammering this out, and realised that if I ever did want to get something up this month I needed to cut the chapter into two parts. This is a bit shorter than more recent chapters but I assure you it is one of _two_, and the second chapter will hopefully come up within the week! Thank you all so much for your patience! Cheers, and I hope this (half of the) chapter will be worth the wait!

By the way: the Favourites list and Alerts list for this story have hit an all-time high for me with it being on 148 Favourites and 200 Alerts. It's nice to know I have so many silent readers. Thanks, I suppose, for your support, even if it is in the background.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed in the last chapter! You guys are seriously so amazing and I can't thank you enough for actually taking the time to comment! Receiving your comments make all of this worth it. A massive thank-you to: ObiBettina7, Valairy Scot, pronker, Zippay, memorysong, Mya Scarlet, mareine, charliebrown1234, Evarne, XxKenobiGirlxX, Destructive Glory, imagination theater, Cymru na Alethaira, Kynstar, Takianna, Helisse, Live4StarWars, eukaryote, Chickadilly, The Zeltron, Barranca, Priestess Catatonia, Invader Miraza, littlelionluvr, and Anonymous. Thank you all so, so much! I tried to reply to as many of you as I could and I'm worried I may have missed a few. If so, I am very sorry!

Before you go: Kudos to Cymru na Alethaira for being the only one to catch my, um, slightly altered disclaimer from the previous chapter! Well-spotted. I was wondering if anyone would see that!

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Twenty-Six –  
Hate Leads To Suffering

(part one)

Qui-Gon smiles. "Come on. I won't be making you breakfast forever, you know."

He leaves Obi-Wan's room, and Obi-Wan clutches the sheets.

_This is…strange. _Disorientated and confused, he shakes his head and rubs his temples. _Okay. So Qui-Gon is alive._

He doesn't get any chance to think over this situation when Qui-Gon calls out, "Obi-Wan!" from, presumably, the living room. Startled into action, Obi-Wan kicks the sheets off, finding himself already dressed in his tunic. Perhaps he fell asleep in his clothes – he does this often, after all. A terrible habit from late nights studying as a teenager carried through to his adult years. Cautiously making his way out of the bedroom into the living room, he glares around the room suspiciously, eyes latching onto Qui-Gon residing on the couch reading a datapad. Qui-Gon looks up and frowns.

"What's the matter, Padawan? You look shaken."

"I don't…I don't know," he says. He _feels_ shaken. He could have sworn, just minutes ago, he was freezing to death on some ship, but…

"Focus on the here and now, Padawan!" Qui-Gon orders, noticing his thoughts drifting. "After all, there's always a bigger fish."

"Um."

"And don't forget to water my plants, please."

Obi-Wan only just manages to catch the watering can Qui-Gon tosses at him, staggering under the unexpected weight. Water sloshes out of the spout, dampening the front of his tunic. Qui-Gon sits on the couch and calmly reads a datapad, the way he always did when Obi-Wan was younger. The simple scene makes him feel fourteen years old again, and his eyes nearly start tearing up from the emotions flooding him. When Qui-Gon looks up and clears his throat meaningfully, Obi-Wan starts, realising he's been standing there gaping idiotically for minutes on end, and forces himself to start watering the numerous plants around the room. They're green and luscious, they way they used to be when Qui-Gon lived – not at all like when Obi-Wan attempted to keep them when Anakin was apprenticed to him. It was hardly _his_ fault plants kept on dying under his care. Plants are _hard_ to care for, regardless of how easy Qui-Gon makes it seem. In hindsight, raising Anakin was significantly easier than keeping a flower alive, and that's saying a _lot_…

"That's enough water for that plant, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon says, amused, from the couch, and Obi-Wan glances at the pot which is overflowing. He jerks the can away and muffles a curse, and Qui-Gon laughs. "All right, you can stop now. Sit beside me, there is a small matter I must discuss with you."

In relief, Obi-Wan drops the can and rubs his chin, startled by the lack of the facial hair he'd tried so hard to grow in order to appear older for Anakin's sake, only to regret it when he started feeling twice his real age. For the first time since waking, he feels an old but familiar tickle beside his ear – his Padawan braid. He raises his hand to it in surprise and sits next to Qui-Gon on the couch, mind racing. None of this makes sense. It feels real – looks, and _smells_ real – but…it _can't_ be. It isn't feasible. And if it doesn't make sense, then it isn't true – basic logic of a negotiator and strategist.

"I trust you will hear me out with the wisdom beyond your years," Qui-Gon is saying, and Obi-Wan forces himself to pay attention.

"Of course, Master. I'm honoured you –"

"I hope you don't mind, but I'm repudiating you as my Padawan."

Obi-Wan blinks. It's all very casual. "You're – what?" he splutters, when he finally gets his mouth moving. "Why?"

"Well, I found someone better than you, didn't I?"

That's ridiculous. Qui-Gon would never say something like that. "Anakin Skywalker?" Obi-Wan guesses randomly, playing along.

"Yes, how did you know?" Qui-Gon exclaims happily.

"Because…" Because this has already happened, twelve years ago, and yet it didn't. He's feeling the same shock and hurt and betrayal as he did then, but Qui-Gon wasn't being _intentionally_ cruel. It didn't happen like _this_. "Because you did almost the exact same thing last time. Only you weren't quite so callous."

"Last time? Well, that's not possible, is it? If I'd repudiated you before you wouldn't still be my Padawan, would you? Now," he continues before Obi-Wan can get a word in edgeways, "as for your future after this, you will be sent to the AgriCorps."

"Of course," Obi-Wan agrees softly, half-heartedly.

"You see, there simply aren't enough Masters in the Temple available to take over your training."

_This is ridiculous. Completely, absolutely, ridiculous. It can't be real. I'm hallucinating, or dreaming. I can take control of this. Qui-Gon recommended me for the Trials and had faith in me – he told me was proud of me, not this nonsense. _"I'm twenty-five," he says, trying to draw logic in. "Surely I'm old enough to take the Trials. Or if not, Anakin is still young. There is no need to start training him straight away. You could keep me on for a few months until I am ready for the Trials, then –"

"No, no, no!" Qui-Gon scolds. "Obi-Wan, have I taught you nothing? I am following the will of the Force, and now you must too!"

"Follow it to the AgriCorps?"

"Exactly! This is your destiny, Obi-Wan. You'll be a farmer. You've nowhere else to go."

"You trained me for twelve years so I could end up a farmer," Obi-Wan says dully. _Oh, yes, completely logical._

Qui-Gon shrugs. "I'll be honest, Obi-Wan – I was just filling in time until Anakin came along. You were only ever _capable_, you see. I'm sure Anakin will fulfil my legacy far better than _you_ ever could."

It's stupid and nonsensical and so obviously not real, but that doesn't stop it from hurting more than it did twelve years ago. "Stop it. Just – stop it."

"Whatever for? It's high time you knew the truth."

"It's not the truth. I don't know who or what you are, but you are _not_ Qui-Gon Jinn."

"Shame on you, Obi-Wan. This is how you treat me? Your Master? Have you no respect?"

"Have you lost your _wits?_"

He's losing control, and fast, but he has no idea how to stop it. Qui-Gon glares at him disappointedly. "I'm in possession of my wits, thank you. _You_, however, are no longer in possession of a Master. Get out of my sight –"

From the periphery of his vision, the plants he thought to be green and luscious, full of life and wonder, are now shrivelled and diseased, poisoned, and reeking darkness. Icy coldness of his own making seeps into his mind, curling around every thought like a carnivorous vine, sinking its roots into his bloodstream, and the hurt and confusion of a young man abandoned by his father crushes him – so many years of carrying it around, hiding behind every word and action – _wake up, wake up_ –

…_ke up, you stupid man – damn you, Kenobi!_

"What…?" Obi-Wan slurs, and darkness gives way to hazy sight. "Bail? Is…is that…you?"

Bail appears above him, face flushed and eyes tense with stress. "Of course it's me, you idiot. Who else would it be?"

Qui-Gon Jinn, maybe? Obi-Wan flinches. No. It was a dream – a hallucination, a product of his lack of mental control. _Focus on Organa._

Organa sounds strange – out of breath, as if he's been running. Obi-Wan shifts his arm, wondering why he's on the floor, of all places, and shudders when the weight of sweat-dampened robes clings to his skin. He gasps for air – and chokes on the humidity. "What –" he splutters, and pushes himself up so he can face Organa. Heat makes his actions sluggish, body robbed of his usual ability to respond with instinct. Everything is an effort and by the time he's standing, he's panting heavily and needs to support himself against the durasteel wall.

"The temperature controls," Organa explains, drops of sweat running down his face in rivulets. "Someone…is controlling them…from elsewhere. The one in this cabin is unresponsive. We can't…touch them, or change them…"

This is bad. This is very, very _bad_. If it gets any hotter, they'll both burn alive. There's something almost bitterly ironic about all of this – Obi-Wan isn't sure what's worse; freezing to death, or burning to death. Both as bad as each other, really, but at least the heat isn't cutting into his leg or making his injuries more painful. He just feels tired, in a completely different way to the slow shutting down of his body in the freezing cold only hours – maybe days? – ago. It's less like it's his body refusing to work and more due to the heat steadily crushing him under its weight, making him drowsy rather than hypoxic. _Don't think like that,_ he orders himself. This isn't the end – it _won't_ be the end. Not after everything – after Dooku, after ten months of war, after the bombings. He pushes off the wall to stand on his own.

"We'll have to…change the temperature from the main…control room… What are you doing?" Obi-Wan gasps out, dragging his sleeve across his sweat-drenched forehead, as Organa pulls his shirt off, exposing his bare chest. "Don't do that!" he exclaims, stunned by the man's idiocy. "It might go cold again."

"Then I'll put it back on _then_, won't I?" Organa huffs, and Obi-Wan glares at him. Foolish, foolish man – politician. Practically always far more trouble than they are worth. And _this_ one – this one was proving inconveniently stubborn, idiotic, too sure of himself. He shakes his head, unable to find the strength to argue with Organa.

"Come on. We have to get out of here. Find the controls and… find the Clones…"

The Clones. He hopes they're all right – or at least the ones that are still left. He follows Organa around the ship, the low hum of the engine devoid of a hyperdrive grinding in his mind. Thoughts sluggish and the heat making him drowsy, he just follows Organa with one hand on his lightsaber and a half-aware gaze sweeping the corners of corridors. Organa opens a private chamber and glances over at him.

"I'll check in here."

Obi-Wan nods his consent, even though he knows perfectly well Organa will do whatever he pleases regardless of his answer. As Organa disappears into the compartment, leaving Obi-Wan on his own, he wipes the sweat from his forehead with his arm and glances down around the eerily silent ship. He feels his stomach tighten, this time with apprehension. He longs to meditate, to immerse himself safely in the Force where he will be able to sense whatever it is that's out there to arm himself with something, anything, that will help him win this battle against this unknown enemy. Because there is something on this ship – something inside it, and something outside it – that is fuelling this horror. And the worth thing about it, is that he can't sense it at all. Like the fog hanging outside their ship, consuming it, it's almost as if it's inside his mind as well, obscuring all vision of the threat which lingers just outside of his sight.

He shudders and rubs his head, the throbbing back with a vengeance. Holding out an arm to support himself against the wall, his fingers brush the durasteel – and jerks his hand back with a yell, skin blistering at contact with over-heated metal. _You stupid fool._ He stares at his fingertips, red and raw, and he resists the urge to put them in his mouth and soothe the burn. He doesn't, of course – he has better self-control than that – and the scent of burnt flesh makes his stomach revolt, but it is the itch of sweat trickling down his skin that makes him feel as though thousands of insects are crawling over him at once, scurrying over his arms and legs and slipping past his collar and down his neck, small legs pinching his skin. The haze hanging in the room wraps itself around his eyes, blinding him to the controls and replacing the setting with the dry wasteland of Tanaab, transforming his apprehension in the excitement of a field trip. His eagerness to impress Qui-Gon. The blithe self-confidence – arrogance – that this would be easy. No AgriCorps for him, finally a Padawan. The dry Taanab wasteland beneath his running feet. The cool wind in his blindfolded face, giving way to scenarios of Qui-Gon's admiring praise and pride, so well-earned –

_Stupid, so stupid –_

The dirt beneath him crumbling, body falling and striking the ground. A hot rush of embarrassment floods him – he couldn't even save himself with the Force – replaced by swift terror as the firebeetles attack, burning his skin and crawling over his body, _get them off me, get them off me –_

"Kenobi!"

Obi-Wan jolts and wrenches his eyes open to meet Organa's worried stare. "Yes?"

"What just happened?"

He swallows, and clenches his burned hand so that Organa doesn't see the evidence of his idiocy. "Hallucination. Just a memory."

"Must have been a bad one. I called your name for about two minutes before you heard me."

"It was surprisingly vivid for a hallucination," Obi-Wan says.

"Why are you hallucinating?" Alderaan's senator demands, and Obi-Wan shakes his head.

"I suspect it is a result of the temperature changes. And…" And, something is interfering with his control of the Force. He doesn't say this, though. Organa seems to accept the first explanation.

"What were you seeing?"

"I was thirteen. Nearly fourteen. I was on a fieldtrip to Taanab as part of my Padawan training with Qui-Gon. I was young and inexperienced and underestimated the complexity of the task. As a result, I tumbled into a firebeetle pit."

"Firebeetles?" Organa shudders. "I thought those things were eradicated fifty years ago."

Obi-Wan looks up. "They were, from populated areas. We were in a wasteland on the Ba-Taanab Peninsula." He puts on the faintest of smiles. "There's no point to a field trip if you don't encounter obstacles."

"Obstacles?" Organa repeats, horrified. "You Jedi consider carnivorous beetles as _obstacles_? What would you consider a nest of gundarks, then?"

"An amusing diversion," Obi-Wan quips back, and Organa shakes his head.

"It must have been…terrible."

"Not at all," he responds politely. "It was hilarious."

"But –"

The Senator's concern is strangely comforting. "There was no harm done, Senator Organa," Obi-Wan says gently. "In the end, the incident was a useful lesson about the folly of overconfidence."

"Well, so long as the trip wasn't a _complete_ waste," Organa mutters, then sighs in exasperation. "The more I learn of you, the less I understand."

"Rest assured the feeling is mutual, Senator."

"Ha," Organa breathes. "Can you stand?"

"Yes," he says, then regrets it when his leg protests and the weight of heat does everything it can to push him back down.

"Come on. We need to find our troopers. You head towards the bridge and I'll go to the barracks, and we can sweep from there and meet at the nav comp, all right?"

"I don't suppose if I say I think splitting up is a terrible idea you'll listen to me?" Obi-Wan says dryly, and Organa raises an eyebrow.

"Perhaps if you ask nicely."

Infuriating man. "_Please._"

Organa sighs. "All right. But it'll just take longer."

"Has anyone told you that you possess a striking _lack_ of self-preservation?"

"On occasion."

They carry on in silence. Organa eventually puts his shirt back on, much to Obi-Wan's relief. It takes a good ten minutes to sweep the rest of the ship, with no success. This makes Obi-Wan feel both sickeningly fearful and relieved at the same time; as much as he wants to find the Clones, he isn't sure he wants to know what's happened to them just yet.

The last place he and Organa check, still in silence, is the utility closet. Organa uses his override to open the door and flashes his torch around the small area quickly. The metallic stench of blood hits Obi-Wan hard between the eyes first; the sight of mangled bodies, one swinging from the ceiling and the rest on the crowded floor with slit arms and heads blown through with blasters, a moment later. Organa collapses behind him and retches violently, the smell of bile mingling with the blood. Obi-Wan chokes and back-pedals, nearly tripping over his own feet, and grabs Organa's shuddering, sweat-soaked shoulder.

"Oh Force," Organa is muttering. "Oh Force…"

"Senator," Obi-Wan finally gets his voice working, hoarse but authoritative. "Come away from there."

"The Clones –"

"They're dead. There's nothing we can do about it."

He manages to half-drag the Senator away, sealing the door, and ushers them into the cockpit, seating the shaken Organa into the pilot's chair. "How?" Organa asks, blinking rapidly. Obi-Wan almost feels pity for him; has he ever seen such a horrific sight in his life before? Most likely not. Not the Prince of Alderaan, practically virginal to battle.

The _how_ is easily explainable – self-made nooses around necks and blaster scorches across chests. Homicide or suicide, it barely matters now; either they each killed themselves, or they killed each other until no-one was left standing, because there's nothing else on this ship except the two of them. He'd have sense another foreign presence. Surely. "Mass suicide," he mutters.

"But – but _why?_ What in the galaxy could have made them do _that?_"

The _why_ is another matter entirely. "I don't know, Senator."

"Do you know _anything?_" Organa finally explodes, and Obi-Wan rounds on him.

"I know enough about this situation to tell you that I was right and this is far too dangerous for you!"

"That's a little childish, isn't it?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"_I told you so._"

"We haven't the time for this inane argument. And we can't exactly turn back now that we've lost lightspeed. What does the navicomputer tell us?"

"It tells us that we're in the middle of Wild Space."

Rolling eyes is definitely un-Jedi-like, but Obi-Wan doesn't feel much like a Jedi at the moment.

"This darn nebula," Organa is muttering, pressing random buttons. "If only I could see past it!"

Nebula, Obi-Wan repeats silently, and finally something slides into place, and it feels like a lightsaber to the gut.

_Oh._

The chill. The haze, clinging to his mind, like a toxic sludge poisoning his memories. Nebulas can't do that, not to Jedi. Not to _anyone_. "It is not a nebula," he says softly.

Organa looks over at him. "Then what is it?"

He reaches out with the Force, and withdraws immediately, hating the sensation. Body aching, not from injuries, but in pure fear. "It's…cold. I… I can only hazard a guess, but I think –" He swallows, and again his stomach clenches. "I suspect it may be a physical manifestation of the dark side, and we are flying straight into it."

Organa stares at him for a long moment, eventually deciding to pay attention to the least important part of what he said. "What do you mean _flying_ into it? We're already in it! You didn't think to mention this before?"

"I didn't sense it before." Which is probably what frightens him the most.

"What's it doing to us, then?"

"I think it controlled the Clones into their mass suicide. I think," he pauses for a breath, "it's what has been causing my hallucinations."

The fog, the dark side manifestation, is what has been attacking him, making him remember things and twist Qui-Gon's memory. But the fog wouldn't do it on its own; there must be something else there. Some kind of dark side technology. A modified holocron, perhaps. Somewhere out there, controlling the fog.

Something…Sithly.

And how could he have _missed_ it? Something so massive – it isn't possible. Yet miss it he did. And now it's too late to do anything about it.

He dimly realises Organa has been speaking to him for the past five minutes, and is now staring out of the viewport. "Look," he says, pointing through the fog. "Over there."

It isn't so much the words as it is the Senator's tone; wonder and awe, mixed with the tinge of fear, and Obi-Wan looks out to see what he sees. An ocher globe, suspended in a fog of dark side energy against the darkness, partially bathed in the harsh light of a yellow sun. Courted by three dignified small moons – thick with the presence of the Force. Dangerous. Full of secrets. An exoskeleton of hundreds of ships, ravaged and ripped apart, hanging just outside its atmosphere. Haunting. Deadly.

Strangely beautiful.

"A planet," Organa rips through his trance. "A damn planet – there was no mention of this! How could the Friends have missed an _entire planet?_ Didn't they scan for gravitational centres?"

"Their instruments –"

"I don't darn well care if they didn't work! What about ours?"

"You _know _the controls are shot, but some of the scanners are still working," Obi-Wan says irritably, observing the remaining ones flashing. He engages the ship's sensors and briefly sweeps the surface for life-forms. "Nothing human or humanoid registering," he says. "Low level animal and plant signatures. The atmosphere appears to be able to support humans. We should be able to land there if we don't get our hyperdrive working. Assuming that _this_ system isn't malfunctioning like the rest of the ship."

"Hmm." Organa sits forward. "Well, we need to pull up so we don't get pulled in by the gravity. We don't know how heavy the force is."

When the ship jolts, they stare at each other in horror.

Too late.

"And if you don't start doing it now then we'll be killed! Is there any other way off this ship, in case it does come to that?" Obi-Wan snaps as Organa lunges for the controls, pulling it out of the useless autopilot.

"I don't think so. There aren't any escape pods on this."

"Why not?" Obi-Wan roils with irritation.

"_Because_, all right? Kriff," Organa swears, and backs away from the navicomp to run his hands through his hair in stress. "What the hell are we going to do? You're the Jedi here – tell me what do to!"

He's a Jedi? He doesn't feel like it. He hasn't felt like it for a while, not since before the bombings. _Force help me, for all I preach Jedi platitudes to Anakin, I am still little more than a man._

He pauses to breathe and clear his mind as best he can. _If you can't be a Jedi, be a General._ "We have to land. Or crash, in this case. I'll try to control this cruiser as best I can for the impact. I'm not Anakin, but I can try."

Obi-Wan grips the steering control and pushes it upwards. Tries to, at any rate – the lever refuses to budge under his hand, and he tries again, this time using the Force. His chest clenches in fear and Organa's eyes widen.

"Please don't tell me –"

Before he can complete the plea, the gravitational force jerks them once more and he and Organa are sent sprawling. Organa strikes the wall then falls to the deck, head hitting the plating with a sickening crack. Obi-Wan stares breathlessly up at the ceiling, reality spinning on its crazy axis. All he can do is roll over and try to stand up but it's hard to do that when his head keeps spinning and he keeps falling and falling – but it's the _ship_ that's spinning and falling, not him, so he staggers to his feet and throws himself at the control panel, trying to focus his blurring vision on the instruments.

"Stay awake," he grits out over his shoulder, but like when he was slowly freezing to death, Organa can't keep his eyes open against the force of gravity and the heat of the ship ripping through layers of atmosphere.

"Mum, mum, it's me," Organa is murmuring, eyes unfocused and voice laced with distress. He sounds so young – he must have been only a boy when Tayvor Mandirly died, only a young man when his mother lost her mind. So like Anakin. "It's Bail – I'm your son, don't you recognise me? Mum, please…it's me, your son –"

The thick fog of the dark side obscures the world below. Obi-Wan clutches uselessly at the controls, trying to stop the ship's rapid descent because if he doesn't they're going to crash and they'll die. But the controls are jammed and refuse to give way under his hands, stubbornly frozen in place. They're going to crash – they're going to die, and he can't do a thing about it. Like the thick swirls of the darkness clinging in the air, Obi-Wan feels it coil around his arms and infiltrate his lungs with every gasp for breath he takes, pulsating through his blood and poisoning his limbs –

_No no nononono –_

_DIE, JEDI –_

It'll control him. It will twist his mind and turn him into a perversion of himself if he doesn't start fighting against it, but how can he fight it when he has no idea where to start with it? It's so tight and painful around him. He can't fight it – not with his ears ringing with _die Jedi_ and his vision blurring and darkening.

_You'll die. You'll die if you don't do something._

And that's just it, he _can't_ fight against this, doesn't know what to do – but what if he can…instead of fighting it, _use_ it to stop the ship from crashing?

The thought sickens him but through the fog of darkness he can see the planet rapidly getting bigger, and he hears Organa pleading, _Do something, I don't want to die –_ and instead of battling the foreign presence he embraces the vile force from his own body to seize the controls, determined to save Organa and save himself, trying to withstand against the battering _die Jedi, die Jedi, die Jedi, die –_

And finally, under the channelled power – fire fighting fire, darkness fighting darkness, where his lightness failed _dear Force_ – the ship levels out for the briefest moment, now aiming to strike the ground at a blunter angle. The effort is like a vice around his chest and it's too much so he lets go, relinquishing his short possession of the darkness.

Only to drown in it.

_I need you –_

_I don't care!_

_Anakin, Anakin –_

_Train the boy…_

_Get them off me, get them off –_

_Capable –_

_STOP IT, STOP IT, YOU'RE KILLING HIM – _

– _BITCH, YOU SLUT, YOU TREACHEROUS WHORE –_

_Senator, I found him – fingers splintered one by one, eyes gouged from their sockets so he can't see his own blood, and tongue ripped from his mouth so he can't cry for help_

_Die, Jedi –_

_I HATE YOU!_

A moment of lucidity is all it takes for him to feel the tears streaming down his face, realise his entire body is shaking. The constant hiss of _die Jedi_ in his mind makes his clutch at his head, and from somewhere behind him he can hear Organa. The broken whispers of a young man begging for his mother to remember him makes Obi-Wan sink to his knees before the controls.

_Hold on, mum._

Obi-Wan gasps back tears, watching – not seeing Bail mutter to himself, but seeing Anakin holding Shmi Skywalker's broken body, seeing the fear and love in his eyes shatter to mindless horror and rage when she falls limp in his arms.

_Dreams pass in time._

He was wrong – so very wrong. _Anakin, Anakin, I'm sorry –_

Useless. Failure. "I'm sorry," Obi-Wan whispers, and closes his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

He stops fighting, and the shadows of memory descend as the ground rushes up to meet them.

* * *

Consciousness, grudgingly returning, tells Obi-Wan he isn't dead. Yet. Nobody who'd died could hurt this much. Piecemeal memory replays the recent past in fits and starts; the sourness of failure stings his eyes and burns in his chest. In his blood, something rotten bubbles – a creeping sense of decay, smouldering there with the promise of patience.

_Die, Jedi…_

He gags as his memory further stirs.

_Organa._

Where is the Senator? Has he survived? He remembers the man cowering on the floor, tears streaming down his face as he begged for the mother who lost her mind – is he dead?

"Senator Organa," Obi-Wan rasps, then coughs and tries again, sounding louder. "Senator, can you hear me?"

His voice sounds ridiculous, slushy and uncertain. There's no answer. _Don't let him be dead._ "Senator Organa, answer me if you can."

Again, silence.

With a grunting effort he opens his eyes, and is stunned by weak sunlight, pale yellow washed with red, filtering through across his face. An overcast from the nebula. Fog. Dark side manifestation. Whatever it was. Blinking slowly, he lets his gaze track side to side and waits for his battered mind to make sense of what he's seeing. It comes eventually – he's still in the ship, lying on his back in the corridor running between the cockpit and the passenger compartment. The hull overhead is torn wide from nose to tail. It's a ship that will never fly again.

_So we're stranded._

He closes his eyes and takes a closer assessment of his condition. Everything hurts, yes, but it's not the same kind of pain he'd felt after flying into the Coruscant bombs. Then he'd been broken, entire body shattered, blinding pain which melted quickly into numbness – evidence that he'd been the closest he's ever been to dying. This pain is sluggish, a battered but not broken kind, one that makes his body throb with the reminder that he's still very much alive. His leg screams in agony and his shoulder aches as it hasn't done for months on end – so much so that until now he'd forgotten Dooku had ever driven his lightsaber through it.

With difficulty he lifts his head and stares around the cockpit. Helm crushed and transparisteel viewport a mass of jaggest splinters, charred wiring sparking intermittently…and the flat tang and arid sizzle of burned wires and hydraulic fluids. Not too far away, a cracking through the silence that sounds like flames. Not huge, devouring fires, just cheerful campfire flickers. It means the fire isn't deadly yet – but it will be if it reaches the hydraulic fluids and fuel. Then the entire thing will go up in flames. He'll be burned alive.

A hideous thought. _Tayvor Mandirly. Get up. Don't just lie there._

But his bones feel disjointed and his muscles lax and his body refuses to obey. The gleeful, spiteful whisper in the back of his mind – _die, Jedi._

Die Jedi. Die Jedi. So many Jedi dead, in this war – on Geonosis, every other battlefront since then. Constant slaughter. What difference will his life make –?

"Kenobi, are you awake?"

Organa.

Obi-Wan blinks up sluggishly, the sight of Organa leaning over him becoming too common for his liking. "Oh. It's you. Aren't I rid of you yet?" he jokes weakly.

Organa gives him a thin smile in return. "Not yet. For now, you're still stuck with me."

He looks, for lack of a more inventive word, dreadful. His olive skin has a greenish cast to it, and his face is sporting a black eye and split lip. His left arm is being supported by a makeshift sling, constructed from the sleeve of his ragged shirt. The immaculate clothing has been reduced to a dirt-smudged, wrinkled mess – he looks as though he's been on the battlefield for months, completely at odds with the pristine impression he usually carries.

Noticing Obi-Wan staring, Organa raises an eyebrow. "Let me be the first to tell you that you don't look so hot yourself, Master Kenobi."

"Oh, please, don't hold anything back," Obi-Wan drawls.

"Well, since you did ask, you look like a bantha sat on your face," Organa corrects smugly.

"And _y__ou_ look like a Gundark tried to mate with you."

Organa grimaces. "That was a foul image I didn't need, considering the circumstances." Then he laughs mirthlessly, a hollow sound. "Well, if you want to say 'I told you so' _now_, I won't disagree."

"As you pointed out before, that would be a little childish of me. Where have you been?"

"Outside," Organa says. "Exploring."

Oh, of course. Exploring. "Wonderful."

"It has been more than an hour since we crashed. You were unconscious. I got bored."

"So you decided to play tourist. And what did you find?"

Organa shrugs. "Not a lot. It's too dark out there to see anything, and I was afraid I might fall off a cliff or something." So the man does have a sense of self-preservation after all, however small. "I did find some wood, though."

He's thankful for that – the fire Organa made is starting to bring the feeling back into his hands, but he doesn't exactly relish the idea of venturing closer, remembering the crushing heat on the ship, and the charred remains of Tayvor Mandirly's tortured body –

"Any luck with getting the communications equipment working?" Obi-Wan forces himself to say, cutting off the memory before it has a chance to properly form. Organa shakes his head.

"No. The ship's comsat array is completely destroyed, and the emergency transponder beacon's smashed. No hope of getting a message out – not to the Friends, and certainly not to the Republic."

A lesser man would have sworn, and in all honesty that's exactly what Obi-Wan feels like he is about to do. Startingly, the only reason he _doesn't_ belt out a stream of words unbecoming of a Jedi is because he is quite literally too exhausted to attempt it.

"We've been banged around, but I don't think anything's broken," Organa is saying, then grimaces. "At least not…physically."

Their situation isn't amusing. Nothing about it warrants a laugh. But Obi-Wan feels his lips twist into a smile anyway. "Is that your diplomatic way of asking if one or both of us have gone insane?"

"The thought did cross my mind."

_Die Jedi, die Jedi, die Jedi, die._

He closes his eyes, feeling the blood-caked lashes scratching his skin. "And mine."

Firebeetles. Qui-Gon. Anakin. Tayvor Mandirly. That horrific recording that got him into this entire mess. The voices. How he felt the darkness gripping his arms and flowing thorugh his body…_and how he used it._

He only just manages to overcome the desire to vomit. Is he fine? _No. No, you're not. You haven't been fine for a while – and all of this is just proving how unfit you are at the moment._

"I'm fine," he says instead, opening his eyes. "I suspect you are as well. We are both lucid. What happened on the ship – the force of gravity and the strenuous situation caused our hallucinations."

"I thought your cloud of dark side power was responsible for that," Organa says grimly.

"Yes, well, that too."

A pause.

"You don't suppose that this…" Organa says slowly, "could have been a…"

"A trap?" Obi-Wan finishes, then shakes his. Before, he might have done, but… "No, I doubt it. If it is, it's absurdly elaborate and relies on too many variables. If this _were_ a trap, it would only have worked if someone knew your association with the Friends, knew that _I_ would be the one Padmé asked for help… If it were the Friends who set the trap up – and I am not suggesting they did," he adds hurriedly, seeing Organa's furious glare, "– they have put themselves in an incredibly stupid position. Both Padmé and Valorum know about our mission to a certain extent, and Master Yoda also knows. The Republic will be upon them in days. As for Alinta…her grief was real. Her daughter really did go missing here. I doubt she is the kind of woman who would willingly sacrifice her daughter simply on the off-chance that a Republic Senator and a completely random Jedi would take the run."

"It's good to see you've given the situation a bit of thought," Organa compliments, and Obi-Wan shrugs.

Another pause.

"So. Where are we?"

"You're asking me?" Obi-Wan raises his eyebrows, and Organa smirks.

"Good point."

The Senator stands up, using the wall to support himself. Unfortunately, this movement dislodges a loose piece of twisted metal from above, and although Organa manages to jump out of the way in time for it to miss his head it falls on his foot instead, making him yell and clutch the injured appendage.

"Are you all right? Is it broken?" Obi-Wan demands.

"No, just hurts like hell," Organa growls. He spits out an incoherent curse in some angry alien tongue at the offending piece of metal then stamps out of the corridor, the groaning metal sound of the ship's damaged hatch being shoved aside following shortly afterwards. Obi-Wan lets his head fall back against the uneven wall behind him. His headache ferocious now, and the black sludge of his own darkness veins bubbling – it feels like it's clogging his heart and darkening his vision –

_No!_

He scrambles to his feet then falls against the wall, panting.

_Die, Jedi…_

Fight against the words, is the bare thread of logic he's capable of clinging to. Fight them, don't listen. Fight against the corrosive despair, against his own frailty. Against his own darkness, the darkness he hadn't known he possessed. Hadn't known he was able to use.

He feels unclean, tainted. Nauseous and dizzy again, he staggers along the corridor, finding the half-crushed hatchway, and pushes himself outside, lungs aching for clean air, anything to breathe other than this darkness filling his lungs.

But the first breath he takes of fresh air…it isn't fresh at all. It's oxygen, that much he can tell, but the bitter taste on his tongue and the rancid sting racing down his throat – that's not something that will come up on any scanners. He gags on the foulness of the air, tears springing to his eyes. Organa, only a few feet away, is by his side in a flash.

"What is it? Are you all right?"

How in the name of the Force can Organa stand this – the stench of suffering, of – of – _darkness_? A ripple of hatred makes his body shake. This is Organa's fault, and the forsaken man can't even sense what he's just condemned Obi-Wan to. "I'm fine," he grits out, pushing the arrogant, stubborn Senator aside.

_There is no emotion, there is peace…_

The familiar word manage to calm him. But only just. In distraction, he looks around their crash site to get his bearings.

They've crashed onto a plateau. Stunted trees, foliage drab-brown and scanty. Red rocks, scattered all around. Yellow-brown soil, looking as though the ground itself is ill. A jagged ravine off to the far left, but no sound or sight of water; the river that formed it must be long dead. Or perhaps it's simply the dry season on this strange planet. Beneath the acrid stink of smoke and twisted metal of the crashed starship, the smell of agony and darkness and rancidity twine with a bitter chill which doesn't exist temperature-wise. It fills him from the inside.

_Or perhaps_, the voice in the back of his mind sneers, _it's making you see what has always been there inside you… _

He shakes himself and pretends he didn't just think that, but the fear lingers, as cold and poisonous as the dark side itself.

* * *

Sneak peek for Chapter Twenty-Six ("Hate Leads To Suffering, Part Two"):

_He tries to speak, but he coughs instead and digs his fingers into the dead dirt beneath his fingers, coarseness grinding against flesh. _

_"Obi-Wan?" The Senator kneels beside him, touching his shoulder. "What is this?" he breathes, voice trembling._

_What is this? Obi-Wan shivers, then finds himself gasping for air, mirthless laughter being sucked out of him – his lungs ache with the effort and his throat is raw and his eyes are wet. His own hysterical sound reaches his ears, and from his blurred eyes he sees Bail recoil. _

_"This?" he chokes, sounding half-mad to himself. "This…oh, Bail, if only you knew. If only…"_


	30. Hate Leads To Suffering, Part Two

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

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So, I know I said it would be less than a week between updates but I kept on finding things I didn't like about this chapter, so I performed major reconstructive surgery on it and I'm a lot happier with the final result! (It's also about 3000 words longer. Guh.) Another large chapter as a way of apologising for the wait. I hope you all enjoy the second part of Chapter Twenty-Six! Thank you so much to every single one of my amazing reviewers; you make all of this worth it! I apologise for not replying to your reviews from the last chapter but it's almost midnight and I plan on going to bed very shortly. I figured you would all prefer the promised chapter instead of a review reply! Thanks, guys!

Any recognisable dialogue from _Star Wars: The Clone Wars: Wild Space_ belongs to Karen Miller.

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**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Twenty-Six –  
Hate Leads To Suffering

(part two)

A pair of mini electrobinoculars miraculously survived the crash. It's annoying, in a way, when something so insignificant in comparison to the communications device managed to avoid destruction. Still, Obi-Wan has to admit, they aren't completely useless; Organa is now scanning the land for – well, for what, they're not sure, but something. They're steadily losing light and the temperature is noticeably cooler; any cooler, Obi-Wan fears, and it might rival the temperatures on their destroyed ship. They hover near the fire Organa constructed and Obi-Wan rifles through the supplies which survived the crash as the Senator continues observing their surroundings.

"Look," Organa gestures, then holds out the binocs. "Over there."

He seems to be locating a lot of things lately, Obi-Wan considers, and grudgingly takes to his feet bereft of his usual Jedi ease. His leg twinges painfully which he ignores, and takes the binocs to stare across the magnified open rock and shadowed forest, finding another plateau beyond the graveyard of ships. Through the screening of trees he catches a hint of weak sunlight reflecting off a flat black surface – a shape that isn't natural, rather crafted by design. He lowers the binocs and looks up at the sky, the grey-brown fog hanging suspiciously low over their find.

"What do you suppose it is?"

"A building of some sort, I'd wager."

Organa nods. "Yes, I thought so too. Perhaps we ought to head that way. There's enough bottled water. And most of the mealpacks survived the crash. We can reach the – building, you say?"

Obi-Wan looks through the binocs again. "Or a temple," he corrects absently, startling himself. The air around him whispers, but Organa doesn't seem to notice.

"Temple, then. We can reach it on foot. It won't be easy but we have to try. We can't stay here and just give up. If we're going to die, at least we can die _doing_ something."

Because that, obviously, is so much better. But as much as he loathes to admit it, the Senator sounds like Qui-Gon. It should be comforting…yet it only makes him feel sick and hurt, and he wants to tell Organa to shut up. Or hit him. Something. "I agree we must do something, but I'm not certain your plan is the best idea," Obi-Wan says. "That structure, as far as I can tell, either is or contains the source of the fog that's affecting us." The source of the darkness that's attacking him. The source of darkness that he used.

Organa folds his arms. "All the more reason to go. We find what that is and destroy it."

"I highly doubt it will be that simple, even if the ultimate source is just a holocron. But suppose we do get that far," Obi-Wan continues before Organa can interrupt, "what happens after that?"

"We find a way home."

Obi-Wan coughs. "In case it slipped your mind, Senator, our ship has smeared itself across this idyllic wasteland and it seems determined to not go anywhere."

Organa shoots him a dirty glare. "I meant in the sense that this planet is a ship graveyard. We're sure to find at least one ship here that's good enough to fly. There may even be a ship in the temple, or a method for communication."

It is not an unreasonable suggestion – a definite backup plan, if no-one comes to rescue them. Obi-Wan nods sharply then turns to stare again at the structure, assessing the distance between the plateau it stands on the where they're standing now. "I estimate two days' travel – one and a half if we start off now and walk from sunup to sundown over unknown terrain."

"All right, then. What are we waiting for?" Organa says. Before he can charge off towards the temple, Obi-Wan grabs his shoulder.

"Senator…" he says, "you must understand something, before we continue." It is with a shameful defeated sigh Obi-Wan confesses, "I may become a liability to you."

Organa frowns. "What are you talking about?"

"This… place. It reeks of the dark side. It hasn't just been making me relive moments of emotional turmoil. On the ship…I gave myself in to the power it offered."

"To save us from certain death."

Obi-Wan hisses, feeling a flash of temper. He stamps it out quickly before it has the chance to ignite the fuel which is his blood. "That is _not_ the point! The point is, Senator, I willingly used the dark side of the Force – using my anger and fear to guide my movements. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is for a Jedi, and for those around him? This _place_ is bringing to surface the emotions I have spent years learning how to release. If I give in again – and now I don't know how much longer I will have control over myself for – I don't know what will happen. The closer we get to the source of the darkness, I may become – violent. Dangerous."

It's the first time he's even admitted it to himself, and the very notion terrifies him. But it's far, far more than a mere notion – if he isn't careful, it will become a swift reality.

Finally Organa looks concerned. "You said 'may'. How bad is this going to get then? Honestly?"

"Honestly?" Obi-Wan shrugs, mindful of his shoulder which aches with every movement. "Honestly, Senator, I have no idea. It depends on whether or not I have the willpower to resist giving in to negative emotion."

It sounds simple, but it's not. It's the farthest _from_. And – he fears – it might not even be because of this planet, or the physical manifestation of the dark side. He fears it might just be _him_. The last ten months are proof enough of this: his post-traumatic stress after Geonosis, his irrational resentment of Anakin…and now the fear that what he feels for Anakin is beyond what is appropriate. But more than that – that Anakin will hate him for it.

Organa watches him carefully. "Maybe you should say here with the ship, and let me investigate the temple."

"A kind thought, but unfortunately impractical," Obi-Wan replies. "Even if you reached it safely, you'd have no idea what was in there. No way of identifying the purpose of its artefacts. If there are any."

"So we continue as planned, then."

"No, I –" Obi-Wan rubs his forehead, feeling another headache hitting back at full force.

"Obi-Wan," Organa says, "it's a risk I'm willing to take."

Infuriating, stubborn, ridiculous, stupid –

"At any rate, we're beginning to lose the light," Organa continues casually, pretending not to see Obi-Wan's burning annoyance. "I suggest we retire, replenish our energy with food and rest, and set off at dawn."

"I don't suppose I get any say in the matter at all?"

"No."

There's something refreshing about Organa's blunt attitude. It reminds him of Padmé, promptly telling him what he needs to hear, not what he wants to hear.

After sharing a mealpack and drinking five capfuls of water each, they crawl into their twisted, tilted bunks and try to sleep as daylight slowly drains into night. Organa slides into sleep quickly, exhausted by the day. The silence and darkness deepens, broken only by Organa's steady breathing and the heavy pounding of his own heart. The reminder that, despite everything, they were still alive. Obi-Wan, envying him, lies wide awake, knowing he needs rest yet fearing what he would experience should he allow himself to sleep. In the end fatigue defeats fear, so it is long into the night before Obi-Wan lets his body relax enough to rest… only to be replaced by visions of a man burning alive, firebeetles, sand, and betrayal.

* * *

They abandon the crashed starship soon after daybreak. The planet's early-morning air is cool and dry, the sky still thick with the fog. A faint breeze stirs from the west, rancid as everything else. Bail hitches up his makeshift backpack, trying to fit it more comfortably against his shoulder blades, and Obi-Wan keeps an eye on the temple in the distance, still trying to discern it.

It's the source of the fog. There's no doubt in his mind. As pathetic as his connection is to the Force right now – or at least, the side of the Force his body and heart and mind are attuned to – he can still sense the presence of a pulsating object. A holocron, he'd said. It was most likely. A dark side holocron.

A _Sith_ holocron.

His stomach lurches again.

_Dear Force…where in the galaxy are we?_

He may have been right, then, when he confessed to Yoda that he feared the threat of the Sith along Salvation Run. Or if not the Sith, then definitely – without a shred of doubt – the dark side. He avoids Organa's questioning gaze to stop the man from seeing his heavy-eyed weariness, one that speaks eloquently of his troubled night. Still, the worry is forefront and the slightest bit irritating, so he sighs, "I'm fine, Bail. You needn't worry."

Organa stiffens. "You didn't sleep well."

"I'm both surprised and flattered you expected me to, Senator."

"Don't be glib, Kenobi. You look half-dead."

Obi-Wan sighs. "I suspect we'll both look like that over the next few days. I suggest we start finding new synonyms. Just to keep things interesting."

Organa huffs and rolls his eyes at Obi-Wan's poor attempts at humour, and for once he doesn't blame him. Now silent, the two keep on walking, and the morning expands around them.

An hour. Two hours. Tramping steadily across the vast, uneven plateau, Obi-Wan keeps his eye on the graveyard of ships around them, searching for anything vaguely useable – half to actually keep the plan, and half to distract him from his pounding head and the cruel memories, and if he listens close enough, a murmuring whisper of _die Jedi_. His quest is futile – everything around them is smashed to pieces, rubble and twisted metal and durasteel, and a nightmare-worthy amount of skeletal remains. Some of these ships must be decades old, from their designs.

There's one that looks more modern, though. More up-to-date with the war designs. A standard cruiser, still crushed to pieces and unusable, but recognisable. The corrosion of the durasteel is minor – which means that the ship could only have come down in the past month. Maybe within the week.

"Let's check this one," he says, gesturing. "Perhaps the communication device is functioning on it."

It's a weak hope and both of them know it; if the communication device isn't working, it's not because of the ship. It's the planet, and the interference caused by the fog, which in turn is being controlled – he thinks – by a holocron. The very thought makes him shudder; a holocron with that amount of power, of dark side aura…something that is capable of action and _thought_…it terrifies him.

A quick check of the communicator on the ship reveals what they'd already suspected – all systems down. The equipment itself isn't terribly damaged from the crash, but there's no way to make the system work. With a sigh and shake of his head, Organa mutters a curse behind him. Obi-Wan can feel the frustration radiating outwards from the man, and it takes every ounce of his willpower to stop himself from feeding on it, allowing it to fuel his own fury.

"There's an escape pod about a hundred metres on the right. Would it be worth checking out?" Obi-Wan asks.

"Only if you suppose anyone survived the landing." Bail says quietly. Obi-Wan remains silent to that. Even if anyone did survive the pod landing, they'd probably be dead by now. How long must the pod have been here for? A week? Two? Maybe a month? The door is shut, which means no-one has left it. So they either died on impact, or they starved to death because Alinta didn't send anyone else out after them. Bile rises in the back of his through at the thought of Anakin being trapped in there, sealed in a pod for days without food or water and without the hope of anyone coming after him, weakly struggling in his harness and begging for Obi-Wan to help him –

_Stop that!_

Obi-Wan suppresses a shudder and rips his gaze away from the pod. _That's not real. That isn't a memory, or a hallucination, or a dream. That's your imagination getting away from you._

And yet, it isn't – not really. This is war, and Anakin has had his fair share of escape-pod landings. But what if, one day, he does land on some barren planet and can't get off it, and has no hope for anyone coming to rescue him? When he runs out of food and water? When Obi-Wan doesn't come after him, because he's too much of a Jedi to choose Anakin over his duty to the rest of the war?

_Well, Kenobi, you're not acting much like a Jedi at the moment, are you? You know the answer that. You wouldn't ever be able to do that. You've always said you would – you even told Anakin only last week that you'd choose the galaxy before him – but that was one of the biggest lies you've ever told._

He hides a bitter snort and turns away from the pod. Then freezes. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

He hears it again – a weak _bang, bang_ on metal. "It's coming from the pod."

Organa listens carefully. "No, I don't hear anything."

Yes, well, Organa doesn't possess the sensitive hearing of a Force-sensitive.

"Come on, we should –"

"Shh."

"What?"

"_Shh!_"

He strains his ears, using whatever he can of the Force to expand his consciousness out towards the crashed pod. It only takes one word – an agonised plea, brutal and _real_ – to know he isn't imagining things.

"_Help…"_

"There's someone alive in the pod," he gasps, and begins to run towards the pod, ignoring the slight limp. Organa grabs his arm and yanks him back.

"There's _no-one_ there, Kenobi! You're hearing things – maybe I should have actually listened to you when you said you might –"

"This isn't me having auditory hallucinations, Senator!" Obi-Wan insists. "There is someone trapped in that escape pod and she needs help!"

Pulling his arm from Bail's grip, he continues to sprint to the pod. Behind him, the Senator hisses in annoyance and runs after him. Out of breath by the time he reaches the escape pod, he presses his palms to the cold metal and reaches out with the Force, sensing a fading presence. He doesn't dare pull out his lightsaber and make a hole through the pod, in case he hurts whoever is in there.

"Help me open this," he orders Bail, clasping the release handle on the heavy door. Organa, thankfully, doesn't argue, and grasps the other handle. Together they start pulling at the door, and for the longest time it doesn't budge at all until an earsplitting grate accompanies the weight giving way.

The smell of blood and urine hits them first when the door is pulled open. Organa gags, as does Obi-Wan, but they both peer into the dark interior of the pod. Hazy sunlight filters through the door, illuminating the space, and a soft moan draws their attention. A girl. A woman, actually. Blonde hair, presumably (it's too blood-soaked to tell), pale skin, face covered in blood, and her harness holding her in tightly. And on the bottom of the pod…Obi-Wan nearly throws up. A man, or what's left of him, crushed at the bottom, and the smell of blood and a decaying body oozes upwards.

"Hello?" Obi-Wan says softly, and the woman shifts, looking upwards with effort.

"O-" she coughs weakly, blinking up at him through squinted eyes, "O…wen…?"

Obi-Wan holds up a hand to shield her face from the harsh glare of sunlight. "Easy. You'll be all right." He glances over at Organa. "Help me pull her out of here."

It takes time to cut the harness away from her body. Her shoulders are raw and blood seeps through her clothes where the friction was so great it rubbed through her skin. She moans in pain as Organa and Obi-Wan spend minutes which feel like hours gently prising her out of what was almost her tomb. She feels limp in and light in Obi-Wan's arms as he carries her out of the pod and brings her to the ground slowly. Organa kneels beside them and fumbles with a water bottle, holding it up to her dry and cracked lips. "Here," he says, "sip slowly."

She tries to gulp but Organa doesn't let her. She tries to reach for it but falls back against Obi-Wan, unable to even lift her arm up much. Finally she looks up at him, eyes clearing ever so slightly. "Are you real?" she whispers.

She sounds so lost and tentatively hopeful at the same time that he isn't sure whether to smile or start crying. "Yes, very real."

"What is your name?" Organa asks, and she looks at him.

"Bria…" the woman whispers weakly, and Organa's eyes widen.

"Bria-Lin Terran? Is that you?"

"Y-yes…but you can call me Bria…or Bri…if you want."

"Bria," he repeats. "I am Bail Organa. This is Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"Kenobi?" Her eyes tense with pain. "I knew… someone called… Kenobi," she manages to whisper, then slumps over, unconscious.

"The poor girl," Bail murmurs, pushing the hair which has fallen into her eyes gently off her face. "How many days has she been trapped here?"

"Five. Maybe six."

"How could she have survived that long?"

"The emergency rations in the escape pod. Not to mention, she's been trained for these situations, and she may have been unconscious for most of it. As traumatised and injured as she is, she has an extraordinary will to hold on."

"Well, now what? We can't exactly move on. What do we do with her?"

Obi-Wan gazes at her bruised face. She's pretty, Bria-Lin Terran – not a stunning beauty or anything like that, but pleasing to the eye. She can't be much younger than him, perhaps in her early-thirties. "We wait," he says, not registering what he is saying until well after the words hang in the air. "We'll wait until she wakes up again. I won't leave her behind."

Organa agrees with him, drops his makeshift bag to the dirt, and sits beside Obi-Wan. "Might as well get comfortable," he shrugs. "There's a nasty gash on the side of her head. I'll clean it up as best I can."

* * *

She rouses three hours later. After drinking some more water and managing a few bites of a mealpack, Bria-Lin Terran surprises Obi-Wan and Organa with her ability to stand and walk. She slows down their pace and it's unlikely she'll start to move faster, but the good news is that she doesn't require to be carried, and that they won't be held down in one place for another day. Obi-Wan gives her his robe to wrap around her body and keep her warm. It may be torn and bloodied in some areas, definitely having seen kinder days, it's better than the state of Bria-Lin's shredded clothes. She seems grateful for when he gives it to her, but she doesn't talk much. At all, really. She responds to Organa's questions with a nod or a shake of her head and avoids both eye and physical contact.

_No, p-please, PLEASE – OH GODS – NO, NO – GERALD –_

That was her voice, on the recording. What has this woman been through? Obi-Wan had thought she'd been violated, in the most horrific way a woman can be, on that ship by one of her crew members. Perhaps he was right; she keeps her distance from Organa. He thinks maybe he ought to talk to her, help her, but he has no idea what to say or do. So he stays silent, and they keep walking. Along the way he keeps noticing things about her: the way she clenches her fists every now and then, lost in thought; the way she recoils from Organa's touch; the way her hands hover around her ripped clothes in a way that has nothing to do with concern for modesty.

He says nothing, because he fears he'll just make everything worse the way he always does. He doesn't know anything about this woman, or how she'll react if he does try to talk. What she really needs is a medic, and her mother. And the only way she'll get either of those is if he finds a way off this planet.

"She thinks I'm dead, doesn't she?"

It's the first time Bria-Lin has spoken all day. Obi-Wan starts in surprise. "Who?"

"Alinta. My mother."

"She wouldn't send anyone out to look for you," Organa replies testily from the side.

"Good," Bria-Lin says after a suspended, tense moment. "She did the right thing."

Were he not so exhausted, or feeling as though he's about to retch at any given moment, Obi-Wan nearly laughs at the scandalised expression on Organa's face. Strangely, though, he does understand the Senator's horror. More than that…he finds himself agreeing with it, against everything he's ever been taught.

Maybe once he would have taken the same actions Alinta did when she presumed her daughter dead. But now…with Anakin…he doesn't think he _can_ ever choose duty over Anakin anymore. For all those months of teaching Anakin how to do just that, and this is where he ends up… He shakes his head. It doesn't frighten him anymore, what he feels. There isn't a question around it any longer, and the fear has been replaced by inward fury for being the hypocrite he is.

When night falls they set up camp; Organa gathering as many sticks and branches as he can find, and Bria-Lin stays huddled up to the small source of warmth. A mealpack is split into three between them all, and a few sips of water is all they each receive. Dinner, if it can be called that, is a very silent and dreary affair, which leaves Obi-Wan alone to thoughts he doesn't want to experience.

"You look like him," Bria-Lin says suddenly. He blinks at her.

"Like who?"

She stares at the small flickering fire. "Like Owen. You…you have his eyes." At Bail's and Organa's blank looks, she lets a small smile lift the corners of her mouth. "I think I mentioned before that I…I knew someone called Kenobi. His name was Owen. Echo Four. He was in my team, but he…he died. Two months ago now."

This Owen might been her lover, then, or at the very least a close friend. It's clear in the way her eyes soften when she speaks his name, and the way grief runs through her at the thought of his demise.

"I am sorry for your loss," Obi-Wan says softly, and Bria-Lin stifles a sob. Bail moves closer to her, sharing his own tale of loss – stillborn children, and his and his wife's grief – and Obi-Wan tunes out. It's not that he doesn't care, or doesn't feel Bail's and Bria-Lin's pain as sharply as if it were his own; it's just that right now, it hurts _too_ much. If he doesn't listen, he doesn't have to hurt. The fire dances hynotically before his eyes, and if he peers in closely he can almost see small figures in the flames, twirling and sparking. It's lively and for a moment it reminds him of Anakin, so bright and passionate, but the brief joyful thoughts of Anakin are accompanied by the crushing guilt and the fire rips through his mind. Tayvor Mandirly screams as his fingers are splintered, one defenceless bone at a time – eyes gouged from their sockets so he can't see his own blood or what's being done to him. Tongue ripped from his mouth, so he can't cry for help – no pitiful pleas for mercy. When he's set on fire he's not yet dead, and he writhes uselessly against the flames eating away at his flesh.

"Kenobi!"

"_Don't touch me!"_ he snarls, launching himself at the intruder who touched his shoulder, tacking him to the ground. His attacker grunts, winded, and Obi-Wan rolls off him, trying to find his bearings and preparing to attack in defence again – but before he can large firm hands grasp his shuddering shoulders, steadying him, and from somewhere behind him a small, frightened female voice, "What's wrong with him?"

Reality floods back. "I'm fine," he coughs out, and keeps his eyes downcast in shame.

"Don't lie, Kenobi," Organa spits. "Anyone can see you're half out of your mind."

Like the fire which consumed Mandirly, fury races through Obi-Wan's veins – doused only by the look of terror Bria-Lin gives him before he can strike Organa across the face. "If that is the case, then spare me your heroics, Senator," he hisses instead, ignoring the voice in the back of his mind which pleads _this isn't you, this isn't you_. "I warned you of what might happen. When this happens again, _stand back_. Do _not_ interfere. I'm finding it difficult to separate fact from fiction now, and if my visions should turn violent it will be _you_ who pays the price. If for no other reason than self-preservation, which you sorely _lack_, please stay away."

"And let you hurt yourself instead?" Bail exclaims. "If I'd let you carry on much more just now, you might have drawn blood or scratched your eyes out!"

Dimly he registers the dull ripple of pain on his face – fingernail scratches, nearly cutting through his skin. He must have been clawing at his face, trying to stop the fire from eating it.

"We won't get off this rock without you in one piece," Bail adds in a more gentle tone, but it only serves to aggravate Obi-Wan further.

"And you won't get off it if you're dead!"

"Shut up, just _shut up both of you!_" Bria-Lin snaps, and Organa and Obi-Wan face her in surprise, anger dying at the sight of her tearful but furious expression. "I want – I want to go home. And I need both of you alive for that. So help me, if you two kill each other before you find a way to call for help, I promise I'll find a way to resurrect you just so I can kill you again!"

Obi-Wan blinks and shares a look with Organa. Slowly they back away from each other and Bria-Lin sits down beside them and hugs Obi-Wan's robe around her thin body. None of them say another word for the rest of the night.

* * *

"Master Yoda," says Anakin, via hologram. "I'm pleased to inform you, and the Jedi Council, that after an extensive and exhaustive search, I have been able to recover my Artoo unit who had been lost in action following the Battle of Bothawui."

And what a relief it was. Artoo beeps and whistles beside him and Anakin grins down at him, patting the dome. Yoda's blue, wavering image nods approvingly but Windu sits forward, his glare somehow managing to burn Anakin through the transmitter. _"You lost your droid?"_

Anakin coughs. "Um, yes. But I found him again."

"_That's not the –"_ Windu breaks off and sighs heavily, pressing his fingers to his temples, then turns his glare at Yoda. _"You knew about this already and didn't tell the rest of the Council, didn't you?"_ he accuses.

"_Keep telling you, I do, that young I am, no longer. Slip my mind, trivial things do…"_

"_Trivial?"_

Anakin coughs again. "Masters?"

Windu pierces him with a harsh stare again. _"I will have further words with you and Master Yoda about this very soon,"_ he promises, making Anakin shift in concern. _"In the meantime, we do have a war to conduct."_

As much as he'd like to continue tormenting the man, sometimes it really is just better to placate him. "Yes, Master Windu," Anakin says. "Do you have a new assignment for me?"

"_Nothing on the front lines. This recruitment party Dooku's been holding on Chanosant means he's eased back on the obvious aggression. At least for the moment."_

"Dooku's put Grievous on a leash? Master Windu, that's hard to believe. Especially after him taking out the Falleen battle group."

Windu allows a small, grim smile to filter through. _"He took out the Falleen group, then lost Bothawui to you. I'd say there are some tactical readjustments going on behind the scenes. In the meantime the current front is a public relations battle between Dooku and Palpatine. They're fighting it out on the HoloNet news service."_

"My money's on the Supreme Chancellor," says Anakin, swiftly amused. "Dooku can't actually expect this is going to work, can he? Not when he's got droid detachments occupying Lanos."

"_No occupying. 'Liberating',"_ Windu corrects distastefully, _"from its crushing servitude to the corrupt and decaying Republic. Or haven't you been paying attention to the HoloNet?"_

Not since it started spreading rumours that General Kenobi had a hidden stash of lovers tucked away on each planet, including some Duchess, fellow female and male Jedi, a bounty hunter, and even that old handmaiden of Padmé's. Anakin scowls. "No, Master. The HoloNet puts me in a bad mood, and I know how much you and Master Yoda disapprove of Jedi in bad moods."

They don't need to know the reason _why_ it puts him in a bad mood, of course.

Yoda laughs wheezily and Windu rolls his eyes. _"Pleasing it is to know, young Skywalker, that remembered your Temple lessons are."_

Anakin hides a smirk. "As always, Master Yoda. Although – if I'm not heading back to the front lines, may I ask what it is you want of me now?"

"_We've received your final report on the new cruisers' battle performance,"_ says Windu. "_And I'll admit, I'm surprised. If I recall correctly, Anakin, your previous comments were glowing."_

This time he flushes and rubs the back of his neck. "Yes, they were, Master Windu. I'm sorry, I didn't mean my report to be critical, exactly." Not _that_ critical, anyway – when he wrote them he was somewhere between furious at Obi-Wan and mindlessly worried. Some of that emotion must have leaked through into his report… "The cruisers are fine. It's just – you see – look, the truth is, I think they could be better."

"_Better?"_ Windu repeats, steepling his fingers. _"It's your considered opinion that you, Anakin Skywalker, can improve upon the work of a highly qualified and experienced team of professional shipwrights? A team whose members' combined experience in the design of heavy cruisers totals, I believe, some ninety-eight years?"_

_Because_ it's Windu, Anakin nods and tartly replies, "Yes, Master Windu, that is my _considered_ opinion." Just to see his reaction. (Also, it really is his considered opinion, but that's neither here nor there.)

He's a little disappointed: all that happens is the predictable left eye twitch, and even that isn't as dramatic as it used to be. Perhaps Yoda has started to make him meditate more. _"Skywalker…"_Windu says slowly, _"it is precisely because you're making claims like that is why I'm inclined to believe you. No Jedi would say such a thing if it wasn't true."_

"Even me?" Anakin asks cheekily.

"_Yes,"_ Windu grits, _"even you."_

"_An affinity with machines, young Skywalker has always possessed. While prideful he can be, dishonest he is not,"_ Yoda says, watching Anakin carefully.

Windu sits forward again. _"Anakin, take the battle group to Kamino to receive the new batch of Clone troopers. There will be a shipyard there where you can consult with the experts there, and give them your findings. At this stage I don't know how long you'll have. You could receive a new assignment at any moment. If you do, and the _Resolute_ is unavailable, you'll be given another ship. Any questions?"_

"No, Master Windu. Thank you," Anakin says, then hesitates. Swallows. Knows he _shouldn't_ ask, but can't help it anyway… "At least, no questions about that. Has Master Kenobi returned from his mission?"

When Windu and Yoda exchange a heavy look, Anakin's heart plummets.

"_Returned he has not, young Skywalker. Ask, why do you?"_

The hologram flickers but he doubts the degraded holosignal can mask his worried expression from Yoda and Windu. "I don't know what to tell you, Master Yoda," he confesses softly. "I have a bad feeling."

Understatement of the century, that was…

"Master Yoda, _please_," Anakin finds himself begging. "Something is wrong, and you know it. The way he acted the last time we spoke – that's not normal. You yourself said so. Has he contacted you at all, since we lost the signal?"

Yoda's holoimage shakes his head, and Anakin closes his eyes. _Oh, Obi-Wan, how is it possible for one man to get himself into as many messes as you do? Where are you? Why can't I sense you?_

Ice, on his skin, pelting at him so it feels like fire_. _

_Come to me…come to me to die…_

_"Anakin!"_

Anakin's eyes fly open and he gasps for air. Windu peers at him. "_What did you see, Anakin?"_

He shakes his head. "I didn't see. I was feeling." He swallows. "It's Obi-Wan. Cold. Burning. Pain. And fear. He's angry, and confused…" _Come to me… _"Darkness. I think he's in trouble. He needs help. He needs _me._ Masters –"

"_No, Anakin," _Windu interrupts heavily.

"You don't even know what I was going to ask!"

"_You were going to ask you if we would let you go after him, and the answer is no. Not because we don't trust you –"_ Windu is quick to cover,_ "it's because we need as many Jedi at the ready as we can. We need you on the battlefront, not plunging into Wild Space after Obi-Wan. He can take care of himself."_

He knows Obi-Wan is more than capable, but he can't help the feeling that this time he's too far out of his depth. It's times like these he hates the Jedi Council. "Wild Space? You let him go into Wild Space? On his own? Where in Wild Space?"

"_If tell you I do, will you go after him?"_

Anakin crosses his arms. "It depends on what you have to tell me. The last time I ever felt Obi-Wan like this was – was – after Geonosis. And even then, that was nothing compared to this."

"_Know where Obi-Wan is, I do not,"_ Yoda reveals sadly after a long pause_. "The Roche Asteroids, his last known position was. More than five days ago, that was."_

"And he's been out of contact for two," Anakin completes. "What is he doing?"

"_Securing a new hyperlane, he was, with the help of a group called the Friends of the Republic."_

Anakin starts. "Securing a hyperlane is _dangerous_ – and through Wild Space? Master Yoda –"

"_Old, I am, but senile yet I am not,"_ Yoda says sharply, and Anakin has the grace to flush.

"I'm sorry about that."

"_Hmph. Bridge the gap between the Roche Asteroids and Kamino, this route was supposed to. Make the fourteen day trip from Coruscant to Kamino into a nine-day trip, it should have. Difficulties, there have been."_

"And now Obi-Wan is missing. He could die."

Windu leans back forward into the transmitter field. "_You don't know that. Have faith in Obi-Wan. Believe it or not, he is tougher than he looks. __You will continue to Kamino as planned,"_ he says sternly_. "Senator Amidala should be there to greet you when you arrive."_

"Padmé's there? I thought she'd be on Coruscant helping with the bombing aftermath."

"_She was, but she was requested to observe some of the training the Clones undergo by the Senate."_

"Huh," he says, then shivers as though a wave of ice has hit him. "Excuse me, Masters," Anakin finds himself saying. "I have to…meditate…" He trails off, sounding bewildered at his own words.

Windu visibly blanches. _"Are you sure you're feeling all right, Anakin?"_

"Ha, ha," he says testily, then drops his shoulders helplessly. "I don't know. But I do know that Obi-Wan isn't. I'm going to try and make contact with him."

Windu finally softens his gaze, looking sympathetic. _"You can call on us if you need to."_

_"Be safe, Anakin,"_ Yoda adds. _"May the Force with you."_

"And also with you. Thank you, Masters. Skywalker out."

The holotransmission ends and Anakin rests his weight against the transmitter, trying to still his shaking shoulder. Artoo beeps and whistles in concern beside him, and Anakin distracted pats his dome. There's no time for deep thought; Captain Rex approaches him from behind.

"Evening, sir."

"Rex," Anakin greets with a vague smile. "You have suspiciously good timing."

"Didn't hear you complaining when I saved you at Bothawui, sir."

Anakin lets out a laugh. "No, you didn't. You're a good man, Rex. I just wanted to tell you that we're heading to Kamino. Would you set the course and make sure we get there as fast as we can?D'you think we can make it in three days?"

"No, sir," Rex replies. "I can make it in two."

Good old Rex. What would he do without him? "That's what I like to hear," Anakin grins. "Thanks, Rex."

Rex salutes and heads off towards the bridge to issue the command. Alone again, a ripple of terror strikes through his being once more and his shivers. _Obi-Wan._ He forces himself not to panic, because panicking, as he's been repeatedly told over the years, has never helped anyone, least of all Obi-Wan.

Two days until Kamino. Meditation it is.

_I'll find you, Obi-Wan. Even if it's the last thing I do. I don't care what you made me promise last week and all that nonsense you told me; there's no way I'd ever choose the galaxy over you when I have a chance at saving both. As if _you'd_ sit on your hands and wait if I went missing. Just hang in there. Please._

* * *

Five hours into the morning and no more hallucinations or warped memories, a storm blows in from the west, black clouds edged lurid green rolling across the sky and mating with the fog in a horrendous smear. Whatever sunlight that filtered through the fog is gone, consumed by the clouds, and a thin wind, sharp as a knife, tears through the rancid air.

They're nearly five minutes away from the next tree line when the rain comes down like blaster bolts, soaking them within seconds. Exploding against the surrounding rock and their exposed skin feels like its tearing through their flesh. Bail releases a muffled curse and Obi-Wan looks down at his arms and hands, expecting to see running blood. But it's only water, even though it feels like the fire which turned Tayvor Mandirly's tortured body into a twisted corpse.

"We have to get to the trees for shelter!" Obi-Wan yells. He may he half out of his mind but he hasn't yet lost all common sense. Bail nods, teeth chattering with the cold, and raises his arms to cover his head against the onslaught of razor-sharp rain drops. Bria-Lin…starts walking in other direction, and pulls off Obi-Wan's robe to let it fall to the mud-soaked ground. Bail leaps after her, grabbing her arm.

"What are you doing? Are you insane? We have to get to cover!"

"What does it look like?" she yells over the roar. It's hard to tell if the water running down her face is rain or tears. "I've been in that escape pod for a week. I stink, and all I can feel on my skin is Lincoln's blood and G-Gerald's hands. I need to wash it off. I want –" she chokes a bit on the words. "I want to feel _clean_. And please don't…don't touch me. I don't…I can't… I don't like it."

Scalded, Bail releases his hold on her arm and she staggers out into the rain, peeling her torn, bloodied clothes from her skin, until she is standing in nothing but her underclothes with her arms outstretched and head tilted back to let the harsh drops of water strike her flesh.

"Now what?" Bail asks him. "It could start to hail at any moment, and she's traipsing around in her underwear!"

Obi-Wan pushes him in the direction of the trees, feeling the air tense around him. "You get to cover – _Bria!_" He can barely see her through the thundering rain, but she somehow manages to hear him and runs back, clutching Obi-Wan's muddied robe around her exposed body. He looks her over, her blonde hair clinging in strings to her face and eyes squinted against the crippling wind and rain. "Bria, we have to –"

An ear-splitting crack drowns out his words, and a spear of blue lightning cuts the sky in half, stabbing towards the trees. Bria-Lin lets out a terrified shriek and Bail yells, jumping backwards, when flames soar from the struck trees. "Great!" Bail cries hysterically. "We stay here and risk getting pelted to death by hailstones, or we run to the trees and get struck by lightning! Imminent cause of death is now multiple choice!"

"Shut up, you idiot, and get down," Obi-Wan shouts. "Stay as close to the ground as you can. I can try to protect us against the rain."

He raises his arms and feels for the Force, but the only thing he can taste is his own bitterness and poison and he can't use that again, he _can't_, but it's either that or they get dashed to death by hailstones. He could do it. He can reach for his terror and use it to form a barrier around them. It'd be so easy because it's all right there, and all he has to do is give in and the torture will stop.

He chokes, and tears are streaked away by the rain.

_No_.

The lightning hasn't passed but right now, the trees are their best bet for survival. He hauls Bail and Bria-Lin up off the ground, ignoring his shoulder which screams in agony and his leg which buckles beneath him, and starts running with them, feet sinking into mud and tripping over rocks and dead shrubs. They're ten metres away from the tree line when the hailstones start crashing down. Thousands of rocks hammer down from the sky, bruising their bodies, pelting them from above; they lunge for the cover of trees and Obi-Wan collapses against a thick trunk and slides down, closing his eyes so he doesn't have to see Bria-Lin shaking in fear or see Bail pressing his hands together and muttering pleas to whoever is out there listening. Behind his eyelids he still can see the flash of lightning rip across the sky, illuminating everything in an eerie white glow.

_Come to me…_ the wind howls, and his lips silently form the rest of the sentence. _C__ome to me to die, Jidai…_

Blackness descends.

* * *

He isn't huddled against the tree when he wakes up. He's not even half-drowned in the mud. He's on Naboo, kneeling beside Qui-Gon's struggling body at the edge of the melting pit, and all he can think of is _no, not again, please –_

"Why, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon rasps. "Why did you let the creature kill me? I trusted you, and you – you weren't there when I needed you to be…"

He knows, beyond all doubt, that this isn't real, but Qui-Gon looks so real and the memory is still so raw that he can't tell fact from fiction anymore, and he can't stop seeing himself there, saying the same things to Anakin about his leg, blaming him about Geonosis, and he hates himself for that because it wasn't his fault and it wasn't Anakin's fault either and this _isn't real_. "I – no – I didn't _let_ it kill you – you didn't wait for me, I –"

"Don't make excuses, Obi-Wan. After being responsible for my death, don't you think the least you could do is stop lying to me and to yourself?"

_It's in your head. Wake up, don't react, control, there is no emotion –_

"Mediocre," Qui-Gon spits. "Capable. You've never been good enough, Obi-Wan. Not for me, not for the Order – not for your own family, who gave you up, not even good enough for the AgriCorps…a mother and a father who didn't want you. A brother who was spared knowing you…"

He's shaking. Anger, hurt, it doesn't matter, it all feels the same. "Stop it."

– _there is peace, this isn't real, this isn't real –_

"…and certainly _never_ good enough for Anakin. I should never have asked you to train him. I must have been delusional in my final moments to ask that of you, of all people. Anakin deserved a better Master, one who knew what he needed. A Master who could guide him as I could. A Master who wouldn't fall in _love_ with him –"

"SHUT UP!"

Pain flares through his knees, the ground cold beneath them and his hands clenched in his hair.

"Go on, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon goads. "Say you hate me. Give in. Come on, Jedi. It's so easy, it'll feel so good to just say it, to _feel _it –"

So easy. So easy. He wants to –

_No! _"There is no emotion, there is peace," Obi-Wan whispers. Words, meaningless words – they won't help him here in this hell, won't protect him from his own mind. He squeezes his eyes tightly shut as if that will block out the poisonous tar seeping from and into his mind, thick black sludge of his own soul.

"Peace is a lie," Qui-Gon murmurs in his ear, breath icy cold.

_It isn't real. There is no emotion, there is…there is…p-peace –_

"Oh, Obi-Wan. You useless fool. Peace is a _lie_."

_Mediocre. _Ink pouring into a glass of clear water. _Only capable._ Ink with blood in it. _Never good enough. _Ink full of rage. _Anakin deserves better._ _Pathetic. Useless. Never wanted you. Never loved you. There is no emotion there is no emotion peace is a lie, a lie, a _lie_ –_

"I…I hate you…" Obi-Wan sobs. The snake inside his chest rears back, hissing and spitting poison, he can't stop himself, and Qui-Gon that blasted man he doesn't react at all, well Obi-Wan will _make_him react, will _destroy_ him and make him _suffer_ for everything he put him through because he hates him, he _hates him_ –

"I _hate you! You never wanted me! I hate you –_"

He lunges at Qui-Gon and his blood red lightsaber sinks deep into the Jedi's gut, skewering him on the blade.

_Die, Jedi._

For one blissful moment, he opens himself up to every single blackened thought that he hid away over the years and relishes the sheer emotion and power it gives him.

Above him, Qui-Gon chokes, and in that horrified second everything crashes down around him. The blade disappears and they fall to the ground. Obi-Wan moans and clutches at Qui-Gon's body, rolling him over and holding him tightly. "No," he sobs, cradling Qui-Gon's head. "_No_."

What has he _done?_

_I'm so sorry. Forgive me – please, forgive me –_

But his arms are closing around thin air, and that voice, that Sith-damned voice, fills his mind like the black poisonous tar it is.

_You hate him._

Another sob shakes his frame. That's not right, that's a lie – "No, I don't, I don't hate him –"

_Yes you do,_ the shadow murmurs in his own voice, comforting, understandingly. It would be so easy to listen._ You hate him because he never wanted you. You hate him because he threw you aside like yesterday's garbage for his precious Chosen One. You hate Qui-Gon Jinn, because he never loved you._

He moans, clutches his head. "Leave me alone –"

_Embrace me, Jedi. I can help you. Embrace your hatred. Let go of your misplaced love – can't you feel how much it's hurting you? _Oh, he does – he does. It feels like a knife plunging into his chest, over and over again, and he wants it to stop, anything to make it stop, _anything_ to make it go away, _anything_ –

_He never wanted or loved you – why do you cling so tightly to him?_

"Because – b-because –" he sobs, and then his vision shatters and he finds himself on his hands and knees in the dirt, shaking and weeping. A pathetic man haunted by his demons; a mockery of the Force and abandoned by the light. Except the light hadn't abandoned him. The light could never do that.

A Jedi youngling in the Temple is taught many things. First among them is this: _fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering. Beware the dark side, Jedi._

The second lesson is this: _Master of the self is the only mastery that matters._

It is with a bitter sneer he recalls it.

_Failure. You are weak –_

"Kenobi?" A man – Bail – says hesitantly above him. "What are you doing?"

He tries to speak, but he coughs instead and digs his fingers into the dead dirt and mud beneath his fingers, coarseness grinding against flesh.

"Obi-Wan?" The Senator kneels beside him, touching his shoulder. "What is this?" he breathes, voice trembling.

_What is this?_ Obi-Wan shivers, then finds himself gasping for air, mirthless laughter being sucked out of him – his lungs ache with the effort and his throat is raw and his eyes are wet. His own hysterical sound reaches his ears, and from his blurred eyes he sees Bail recoil.

"This?" he chokes, sounding half-mad to himself. "This…oh, Bail, if only you knew. If only…"

Alderaan's Senator shakes him, making his head throb. "Stop speaking in riddles, Kenobi! I am not one of your Jedi – communicate in _Basic_, damn you! Whatever this is, it's affecting your mind and you need to fight past it! Is there anything I can do to help? Tell me what to do!"

His mind. His body. His bones, scouring thin. His blood, getting thicker and turgid with hatred and pain. The words spew forth – no control over them. He's handed everything over.

"You can do _nothing_. You want to know what this is?" he spits, the harsh voice of the darkness behind him. He takes a perverse pleasure in watching Organa start in shock, draw away in fear. "_This_is the dark side of the Force. This planet is a Sith planet. Our ship is destroyed, we have no communication or rations or proper weapons, our clone troopers killed themselves and we are half-mad…"

Bail stares at him in horror, and Obi-Wan returns his gaze with bloodshot eyes.

"This is the dark side. Do you know what the dark side is?" he says, and Bail shakes his head, looking like a lost child. Foolish, foolish man – he should have stayed home. Obi-Wan leans forward lips close to Bail's ear. "Would you like me to tell you?"

He doesn't sound threatening, not with that hitch of a sob in his breath and his shaking hands. He doesn't _want_ to be threatening, but his own shadows, deep in his heart and mind, whisper. _I am generous, because I give you back as much as I take. I embrace your light and bring your darkness out from your centre. I show you the truth. I will never lie to you._

"It is generous. It never lies."

_I am patient, because I can wait for as long as I need to. Nearly thirty-seven years you have evaded me…_

"It is patient because it waits. It can wait for as long as it needs to…"

_Because, eventually, even the stars burn out_.

"Because, eventually…even the stars burn out."

_And I always win because I am everywhere, even where I cannot be seen. I am the shadow you cast when you walk in the sun…_

He has touched darkness before. Fleetingly, as he told Anakin – on Naboo, attacking the Zabrak. He called it the sweetest wine upon first tasting it, one that left a bitter poisonous aftertaste.

What he _didn't_ tell Anakin was that…it was all him. There was never an external force. Everything he felt, every murderous swipe he aimed at that creature by Qui-Gon's body, was because of him, and nothing else. His own fear, his own anger, his own hatred – poisoning himself.

This planet may reek of darkness…but right now, with no access to the light – no way of defending himself against the memories resurfacing because of this manifestation of hatred and darkness, and no way of defending himself against what has always been inside him…his only enemy is himself. The only darkness that he has ever fought against is that which already existed in his mind and heart. It always has been.

And it would be easy…so _easy_…to stop fighting and just let his true, vile nature take over. All he has to do to is give in.

_At last…_ the stale wind seems to breathe, _you understand…_

Yes. He understands.

"And we –" He doesn't choke on the words; Organa is the one who flinches, shivers in fear, and Obi-Wan draws it out, watching the man squirm. "We are going to die."

* * *

Sneak peek for Chapter Twenty-Seven ("Beware The Dark Side, Jedi"):

_"Stop it! Stop it, you idiot – what are you saying? What about your light side? You're a Jedi! Can't you fight this?"_

_"I'm _trying_."_

_"Then try _harder_."_

_"_You_ vaping try, if you think it's so easy!" Obi-Wan snaps, lunging over towards Organa to tackle him to the floor, fists lashing out. "_You_ try and fight this, then – go on, _Sexator Organa_, if you're so sure of yourself why don't _you_ try and save us, since I'm clearly not _trying hard enough_ –"_

_

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If you can spare a moment, please leave a review! Never underestimate the power of your encouragement. Without your feedback, I would never have made it this far. Thank you, everyone! This chapter is dedicated to everyone who has graciously taken the time to review _From The Ashes_.


	31. Beware The Dark Side, Jedi

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

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This chapter was a lot harder than I thought it would be! Thankfully, I managed to complete it, and I hope you enjoy it! Thank you all so much for your patience between updates (I know they can get long sometimes). But most of all, thank you so much to the wonderful people who took the time to leave a review. Couldn't have done it without you! Over the next few days I'll be replying to reviews made for Chapter Twenty-Six (Part Two), so if I've missed you out between the replies, I deeply apologise, but please know that I appreciate each and every single review I receive. So that's a massive thank you to these following people who took the time to review the last chapter: charliebrown1234, Siri T, pronker, Valairy Scot, ILDV, Evarne, pauliina, The Zeltron, mareine, skittles321, XxKenobiGirlxX, ObiBettina7, Live4StarWars, ResistanceIsNotFutile, littlelionluvr, Helisse, Raven Black, Shanowa, Kelly Tokien, Arthea, destroying tokyo, Lady Almaren, Rosetera, Wolfa Moon, imaginaryfriend09, Nyu2, AkashaWinters, HEROICA FANTASIA 8, Megan McCarthy Cullen, crystalclear88, and Gumdrop. I apologise if I've missed anyone!

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_Replies to Anonymous reviews:_

pauliina: Thank you so much for reviewing! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story and I hope this chapter was worth the wait. I think your English is very good!

Live4StarWars: Lol! Haha, yes he has. I hope you like this chapter, and thank you for reviewing!

Rosetera: Your English is very good! You write like English is your first language; trust me, some of my friends from school can't spell nearly as well as you can, and English was their first language. I'm so, so pleased you're enjoying the story so much! Thank you ever so much for taking the time to review, and I hope this chapter makes the wait between updates worth it!

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skittles321: Thank you! I'm really, really pleased you're enjoying the story so far, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thanks for the review.

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**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Twenty-Seven –  
Beware The Dark Side, Jedi

The shaking Organa gives him is rough and makes his head throb, but for a moment the black taint seeps from his mind and loosens its grip. "Stop it! Stop it, you idiot – what are you saying?" Organa shouts, shattering the hissing. "What about your light side? You're a Jedi! Can't you fight this?"

Light side. Jedi. _Fight this_. It's like he's hearing it, but at the same time not – it's both him and someone else, the Jedi Master he doesn't remember how to be, who says, "I'm trying."

"Then try _harder_."

The fire ignites. "_You_ vaping try, if you think it's so easy!" Obi-Wan snaps, lunging over towards Organa to tackle him to the floor, fists lashing out. "_You_ try and fight this, then – go on, _Sexator Organa_, if you're so sure of yourself why don't _you_ try and save us, since I'm clearly not _trying hard enough_ –"

"_Kenobi –_"

But it isn't Bail Organa he's holding in his grip, it's Xanatos and it's Bruck Chun and it's the Zabrak that killed Qui-Gon, and all he wants to do is hurt it, _kill _it –

"_Leave him alone!_" A blinding pain explodes on the back of his head and he cries out, releasing his victim and staggering away. "Don't touch him – _stay away from him_."

He's being attacked. He ignites his lightsaber with a defensive fury, rounding on the one who struck him, and finds himself staring into the brown, terrified eyes of Alderaan's Senator. The blue plasma beam hovers shakily at Organa's neck. Finally, he swallows, and he feels a trickle of blood makes its way down the back of his neck. "Bail…? What am I doing?"

Even to himself he sounds small and terrified.

"Right now, Obi-Wan?" Bail murmurs. "Right now you're putting down your lightsaber."

With a soft hum the weapon's blade disengages, and the black and silver hilt falls from Obi-Wan's fingers to thud to the dirt. "I –" Is all he can choke out, staring in horror at the red burn on Organa's neck and his split lip and bruised face, before his knees buckle and he pitches forwards to the ground, shaking.

"I think –" Bail says haltingly, clutching a hand to his neck and keeping his eyes on Obi-Wan cautiously, "I think we ought to stop here and recover. There's adequate shelter and the rain is slowing."

Obi-Wan nods and turns his head to see Bria-Lin. Her stance is defensive, and clutched in her hand is a rock, aimed at him. To his left is another rock, painted with the smallest stain of blood. His blood. "Thank you for stopping me," he murmurs when Bail is out of earshot, filling their water bottles up in the rain.

She shoots him a dirty glare, and keeps her fist clenched around the rock as if it's her lifeline. "I didn't do it for you," she says coldly. "You wear Owen's face, but you're acting just like Gerald. Don't do this to me. _Don't be like Gerald and look like Owen._ I can't take it."

Owen. Owen Kenobi. Obi-Wan shivers. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," she says sharply, eyes watering. "Just don't do it."

_Do, or do not. There is no try._

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* * *

_

The pace is much slower the next morning, heading for the ravine – as if it wasn't slow enough already, Obi-Wan silently grouses, but it isn't the fault of any one person in particular. They're all tired, all injured, all feeling as bad as each other, almost spent. He's not even sure if they'll make it to the ravine before sunset, or before one of them collapses. He hopes it won't be the latter, and if it is then he hopes it won't be him, assaulted by more warped visions and hallucinations. He doesn't know how much more he can take of seeing a perversion of Qui-Gon, sneering his own cruel fears in his face. More than this, he prays he won't see Anakin.

That, he thinks, will break him.

His lightsaber hangs at his side from a utility belt that is too loose around his waist. Trailing his shaking fingers over the cool metal, he shudders, suddenly seeing himself lost in the throes of one of his hallucinations and drawing it on Bail or Bria-Lin. Which, he realises, could happen very, very easily. He casts a glance over at the exhausted Senator – Bail doesn't notice, too busy focusing on not tripping over the gnarled tree roots. Bria-Lin tags along behind him at a safe distance, not too far away to lose them and not too close to be touched. Discreetly, so Bail doesn't see, Obi-Wan falls back until he's by her side. Bria-Lin watches him carefully, body defensive, and he gives her a soft smile as if to prove he won't hurt her.

"Bria," he says quietly. "How are you feeling?"

Unexpectedly, she snorts. "Probably as bad as you're looking, Master Jedi."

She still hasn't released the rock. They walk together in tense silence for another five minutes before he releases his apprehension. _Ask her. It's for the best. _"Have you handled melee weapons before?"

For the first time in days, she cracks a weak but sardonic smile. "Please, Master Kenobi – I'm a soldier. A mercenary. Of course I'm familiar with melee weapons." She pauses. "Why?"

He hesitates for a long moment before forcing his unwilling hand to unclip his lightsaber from his utility belt. "You know I've been finding it increasingly difficult to distinguish my hallucinations from reality. I have a feeling that it will only get worse the closer we get to the temple. If I should hallucinate a lightsaber duel – which I very well could, as I've been in more than I care to count – I might…accidentally injure you. Or worse." He swallows painfully, crushing the agony it takes to admit this all. "I'm asking you to…to take my lightsaber." And he holds it out.

She stares at it, unblinking, but doesn't take it. "A lightsaber is very different from a sword, Obi-Wan. I'm not even Force-sensitive."

"Yes," he agreed, "but out of yourself and the Senator, well… Bail isn't trained for combat. He also wouldn't take it if I gave it to him. He's a politician who doesn't understand what it means to be in a war zone, or understand the risks and sacrifices people must take. One life, over another…how does one judge that sort of thing?" Obi-Wan shakes his head. "Bail is an intelligent man but he is too idealistic. You, on the other hand – I know you'll do whatever it takes. That rock you threw at my head might have stopped me yesterday, but it mightn't do it again, in case I…"

"In case you attack us?"

"Or turn," he admits. _Peace is a lie_, the wind whispers, and he shuts the voices out. "I have faith you'll stop me."

The look she gives him means she knows perfectly well that he doesn't actually mean 'stop'. He means 'kill'.

"Do you have any idea what you are asking me to do?" she finally says. "Two months ago, I lost the man I loved. Now you're asking me to kill someone who looks just like him?"

"You said it yourself: I may look like him, but I don't act like him. Remember who I am, and what I am capable of."

"I was too harsh with you last night, I think," she says softly, watching him with a curious expression. "You're more like Owen than Gerald. But you're capable of the same things Gerald was."

There is a horrified pause and his mouth goes dry. Does she think – she can't honestly believe that he would –? He can't even finish the thought. "Bria, I would _never_ –"

"Not that," she quickly says, seeing his panic, and she shivers herself, turning away and pressing a hand to her mouth as if to stop herself from being sick. "The Force," she manages to continue, voice shaky. "He…I can't explain what he did, but it was horrible. He lifted Bob – Echo Three – up without touching him and just started – _crushing_ him in the air. You could hear his bones shattering, every single one of them, and I screamed at him to stop but he wouldn't. There was such hatred in his eyes. I was so scared."

_STOP IT, STOP IT, YOU'RE KILLING HIM!_

"Bria. That's why I'm giving this to you. _Don't give me the chance to do what Gerald did._"

She takes a shuddering breath and looks away. "I know enough about the Jedi to know that your lightsaber is your most precious possession," she says. "Are you sure?"

"I trust you."

Something in her eyes softens when he says this. She sighs, and at long last takes the lightsaber, letting the rock fall to the muddy ground. "I'll take good care of it, I promise."

"Thank you," he says, meaning it because he knows that she means what she says as well. "Make sure you keep that lightsaber close. And if you so much as _suspect_ I'm about to turn on you…"

"I understand."

So does he. Even though he looks like her dead lover, she won't hesitate out of sentimentality when she's seen first-hand the effects of the dark side.

They continue in silence.

* * *

Sand. Wind.

"Hold on!"

He's on the LAAT/i again. Again, and again, and again, and it won't end, it won't leave him _alone_ –

"Look, over there!" he hears himself cry, and he can't stop himself from pointing towards Dooku's speeder flanked by two fighters tearing across the sand dunes.

"It's Dooku. Shoot him down!" Anakin orders, but they're out of rockets, and Anakin tells the Clone pilot to follow instead.

He doesn't even try to stop it this time. He won't wake up, not from this, and Force knows he's tried. Maybe it's time he just stopped fighting, since fighting only makes it hurt worse. They're jolted violently by another hit – the hit that sends Padmé falling from the LAAT/i with a startled cry.

"PADMÉ!"

Anakin looks like he's ready to jump after her, but he rounds on the pilot instead. "Put the ship down!"

"Anakin! Don't let your personal feelings get in the way!"

"Lower the ship!"

_Not again. _"I can't take Dooku alone! _I need you! _If we catch him we can end this war right now! We have a job to do!"

"I don't care! Put the ship down!"

"You will be expelled from the Jedi Order!"

"_I can't leave her!_"

"Come to your senses! What do you think Padmé would do were she in your position?"

It's a cheap shot. It didn't work the first time, and it didn't work the time after that, and it won't work this time, he knows that much – but… Anakin is hesitating, and with grief and resignation, he stifles a sob. "She would do her duty," Anakin admits painfully, and Obi-Wan can only stare.

_What? __I don't understand._

Everything happens so similar, and yet so different. Anakin lunges in first, unprepared and angry, and Dooku throws lightening, tossing him to the side like a rag doll. The same taunts, the same sort of battle. The same mistakes, yet his only injuries are two cuts, one on his arm and the other on his leg. It's nothing compared to the way he was impaled, but it's enough to immobilise him. When Dooku raises his lightsaber for the killing blow, Anakin blocks him. Saves Obi-Wan's life. But now Dooku's attention is turned to him.

Dooku toys with Anakin, the way he toyed with Obi-Wan all those months ago. Taunting, showing off his superior style, making Anakin's lightsaber skill look like child's play, but like a predator playing with its food, Dooku tires of the game quickly. Obi-Wan watches in horror as Dooku swipes his lightsaber through Anakin's elbow, amputating his lightsaber arm – brash, brave, _reckless_, emotional Anakin –

"_No –!"_ He screams, just as pain flares through his thigh and he jolts back. The hangar disintegrates around him and Anakin's figure disappears, bringing into focus two others above him. He rolls onto his side and covers his face with a shaky hand. _Oh, Anakin, Anakin – I'm so sorry, I'll never blame you again, ever –_

"Obi-Wan? Are you all right?"

He doesn't answer. _Is that what would have happened, if you'd stayed by my side? I'd rather be in constant pain than see you lose your arm._

"Obi-Wan!"

"Hurts," he manages to croak out, and Bail helps him sit up, then lifts the water bottle to his mouth.

"You were hallucinating. Again," Bria-Lin says grimly.

"We couldn't snap you out of it," Bail adds, and he glances at Obi-Wan's leg. "We – I had to – I'm so sorry. It was the only thing I could think of –"

They must have hit it, which accounts for the increased burn in his right thigh. Obi-Wan shakes off Bail's apologies. "It's all right. Trust me, it's been worse."

This doesn't seem to console the poor man, but Bria-Lin, all business, focused on nothing else but survival, says, "Can you stand?"

Before Obi-Wan can answer, Bail cuts in. "Bria, look at him!" he cries, pointing at Obi-Wan lying quite pathetically on the dirt. "Don't be foolish – stay where you are, Obi-Wan," he adds sternly when Obi-Wan tries to push himself up.

"No, I can stand. We have to keep going."

"We're not going anywhere," Bail orders. "Look, it's almost sunset and the only part left we have is the ravine. It can wait until morning. That temple isn't going anywhere."

_Die Jedi, die Jedi, die Jedi, die._ The ravine looms like a crack in the planet. The shadows cast by the setting sun create the illusion that it goes down and down and down with no sign of the bottom. It's all too much like the melting pit on Naboo, the one the Zabrak tumbled down after Obi-Wan sliced him in two. He turns his back to it and tries to lose himself in meditation, but again and again the Force is denied to him. He doesn't want to wait until morning. He needs to go _now_, because he's worried he mightn't make it until then. But Bail looks like he's ready to collapse himself, and Bria-Lin is still tightly clutching his lightsaber. They both need to rest, and going down the ravine as the light dies – well, he might as well commit suicide, and that would be giving up.

No-one ever taught him to do that.

* * *

When morning breaks, they're all already awake. Another restless night, despite their exhaustion – they're too fearful, too injured, to have slept well, but at least they're regained a little energy. Obi-Wan just hopes it will be enough to take them down and back up the treacherous ravine. Bail disappears behind the tree line to relieve himself, and Obi-Wan takes the moment to approach Bria-Lin, who is assessing the drop.

"Bria," says Obi-Wan to get her attention, and tries to unbuckle his utility belt. He fumbles with the straps, fingers clumsy from the uncontrollable shaking, but eventually gets it off and holds it out. "Put this on. Clip my lightsaber to it."

Bria-Lin steps back. "Why?"

This time his smile is gentle. "It's called being on the safe side. You haven't got anything to clip it to and you'll need both hands. We're about to traverse down a rather ominous-looking ravine, in case you'd forgotten."

"I hadn't, but thank you for reminding me anyway." She smiles grimly and takes the belt, fastening it around her slim waist. It looks loose and out of place on her, barely behind held up by her sharp hipbones. "First I take your robe, then your lightsaber, and now your belt. Are you going to give me your boots next?"

"And my tunic. I was getting a little overheated anyway."

She doesn't laugh but she does offer an amused smile as Bail joins them again. They walk to the edge of the ravine and look down over the side. Obi-Wan nearly sways from the dizziness of looking. Bail is the first to pull back. "So," the Senator says, trying to sound nonchalant. "Shall we zigzag down there?"

The suggestion is not unreasonable. There is a hint of a trail running between the tumbled rocks and weathered gullies and twisted, half-grown sickly-looking saplings.

"Go left, then track right, and so on?"

Obi-Wan nods. "I'll go first," he says. "You two, stick close behind me. That way – if something happens –" _If I have more visions… if I fall… _"– I won't take you with me."

Bail chews his lip, looking like he's on the verge of protesting, but Bria-Lin's sharp nod signals to all of them that there isn't any time for more arguments. "All right," Bail says grudgingly.

They start down the ravine.

* * *

Sliding rock. Slipping dirt. Scrapes, cuts, and bruises. Step by uncertain, dangerous step, they tentatively navigate their way down the steep, jagged slop. More than once they overbalance or skid down a rocky gully, gasping for panicked breath when they catch hold of a tree root just in time to stop the fatal fall. Obi-Wan frequently loses his footing as the dry yellow-brown dirt shifts beneath him, his leg unable to support him. Sweat streaks their faces, stings their eyes, slicks their palms. Soaks their stinking, filthy clothes. Bail's fine Alderaanian clothes are ripped and bloodied, looking like he stumbled into the middle of a battle, and Obi-Wan imagines he doesn't look much better. The only thing Bria-Lin is wearing is his worn shredded robe, muddied and filthy and utterly disgusting, with his belt around her waist and his lightsaber tapping her leg with every step she takes. She looks as wretched as the rest of them – perhaps even more so.

Brooding above them is the Sith temple and its fog, like a silent menace. Leering at them. If Obi-Wan listens closely enough, he thinks he can almost hear its laughter intermingled with the constant chant of _die, Jedi_. But then he'll listen again, and it'll just be the stale wind, or the crumbling of dirt under his feet. Behind him, Bail pants heavily and struggles to find his grip. The stupid, foolish, noble man – this wasn't what he signed up for. So like a politician – he had no idea what he was getting himself into, and now he's clambering down a ravine with no survival skill training whatsoever. Bria-Lin is managing better, but only just – her mental strength is astounding, but after everything she's been through her physical strength is severely diminishing, and she didn't even have that much to begin with.

It takes nearly three hours when they're almost at the bottom. Obi-Wan risks another glance at the black temple, to judge the distance – and is battered into the ground.

_CAPABLE, USELESS, PATHETIC, FAILURE, DIE JEDI –_

"_No!_" he hears himself shout, and for the barest second his vision blurs black. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Bria-Lin and Bail are yelling and his hands are grasping at nothing, at air – _I'm falling_ – and his thigh explodes in agony, the sensation of _ripping_ and _cutting_ – his hand finds a tree root and he grips it with all his might, focusing on holding on and not letting go, and nothing else. The rest of his body collides with the harsh, rocky terrain, on a very steep slope, but his eyes are still closed so he doesn't risk moving. He just lies there, holding on for dear life and pretending his leg isn't screaming, until –

"Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan, answer me! Are you all right?"

Obi-Wan cracks an eyelid open and finds himself staring up at Bail's terrified face. "I'm –" he coughs. "I'm fine. I just don't think I can –"

"Here." Bail reaches down and grasps his arm. Bria-Lin, beside him, takes the other, and they help pull him up as he scrabbles with his feet to create a push. When he's pulled up between them, safe on a firm ledge again, they all just sit there is silence, harsh pants of fear filling the silence. He takes the moment to look around, and spots the sharp branch, like a knife, that both helped to stop his fall and maimed him. Its jagged edge is covered with his blood. He barks a mirthless laugh, unsure whether to be relieved or fuming.

"Your leg is bleeding," Bria-Lin says, and quickly tears the bottom of Obi-Wan's robe to create a strip of cloth. "Don't move. I'm going to bind it and stop the flow. I don't think it's that deep, but better safe than sorry."

"Well, it could have been worse," Obi-Wan says dryly, wincing when she tightens the cloth around the wound.

"Oh?"

"I could have sliced open an uninjured part of my body."

Bail raises an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware you were still uninjured somewhere. How did you manage that?"

Obi-Wan snorts as Bria-Lin finishes tying the strip of cloth around his mutilated leg. "It's rough, but it should hold until we get to the other side. We're almost at the bottom."

The sharp cut of his leg rips through his body and pierces his mind, but strangely… he feels far more lucid than he'd felt in days. The overpowering pain acts almost like a repellent to the murk gathering in his mind. Despite his exhaustion and hunger and agony, he's alert.

_Pain. Pain helps me concentrate._

It's a sickening thought, but if it works…

"Come on," he says, taking a limping step further along the trail.

"Wait a minute," says Bail, stopping him. "You want to climb down there _now_? Have you lost your mind?"

"No, Bail. I have, against all odds, most likely temporarily regained it. If I don't take advantage of this clarity now, I don't know when I'll get the chance again." He gazes at them sympathetically. "Are you two holding up? Do you think you can make it down there?"

Bail and Bria-Lin nod.

"All right. Come on."

_Die, Jedi._ He squeezes his wound with a grimace, holding back a yell, and the voice is seared away.

The journey to the bottom doesn't take long, and the slope isn't as steep. Limping and staggering down, Obi-Wan guides them to the bottom, where they sit down and stare up at their expedition trail.

"It's higher than I thought it was," Bria-Lin comments. She doesn't remind them that they still have another side, this time to climb up, but they hear it anyway, and shudder.

"Should we rest? Have another drink?" Bail asks.

Obi-Wan hesitates, then nods. There's enough water, and they need as much energy as they can get. "We'll continue on as soon as possible."

* * *

They make it up the other side of the ravine. Long since past caring if they swear or cry out when the rock crumbles beneath their feet or a sharp branch cuts their face, they drag themselves over its crumbling edge and onto the parched, brittle grass of the new plateau. When they crawl far enough to be certain there is no danger of falling, they collapse facedown on the dead ground, gasping for air and sobbing with relief… in the shadow of the brooding Sith temple.

Obi-Wan refuses to look up at it, fearing that if he does he'll descend into another round of hallucinations and warped memories. He won't let that happen. He's already dragged Bail and Bria-Lin down with him and he won't do it again, he _won't_ –

_Die, Jedi –_

He hits his leg and bites back a scream. It's pure, white-hot agony, but it's better than hearing those voices.

"Stop that," Bail murmurs from the side. "You'll never walk properly again if you keep that up."

Obi-Wan's laughter is gasping and mirthless. "I didn't walk properly _before_. It's worth it."

Yes, it's worth it. Anything is worth Anakin being safe. His leg, or Anakin's arm – that isn't even a choice. He'd _rather_ walk with a limp for the rest of his life than have something as horrific as losing a limb happen to Anakin.

_It's worth it._

He drags himself up into a sitting position, and his two companions do the same. He's never met anyone who is not a Jedi quite like Bail Organa and Bria-Lin Terran. Neither Force-sensitive enough to become Jedi. One a politician, with no training for life-death situations. One a soldier; a mercenary, but one who has suffered far beyond his own comprehension. Nothing to motivate them except the will to survive, and being dragged down by him, half out of his mind and collapsing and attacking them. Somehow they'd found that strength. Salvation Run couldn't kill them. The crash landings couldn't kill them. The storm couldn't kill them. That ravine – the climb had nearly killed all of them, and still the Senator and the soldier have _done_ it.

But the shadow of the final run of their journey still looms over them, threatening. The temple – as strong as Bail and Bria-Lin are, as far as they've come… the temple isn't for either of them. Because if all three of them go in there, Obi-Wan might kill them both.

"I have to go in," he says softly, as Bria-Lin and Bail share a water bottle.

"In a moment," Bail says. "Just let us catch our breaths, then –"

"Not you, Bail. Or Bria. Just me."

Bail stares at him incredulously. "Obi-Wan, you can't go in there alone."

"I can and I will, Bail," he says, and charges on so that Bail can't interrupt. "Both of you must prepare for the possibility that… I mightn't come back out. And if I do, and I'm not… myself… Bria. You know what you must do."

"What?" Bail exclaims, glancing back and forth between Bria-Lin and Obi-Wan. Finally the pieces of the puzzle connect and he realises what the lightsaber in Bria-Lin's hand means. "No! Obi-Wan, don't be a fool –"

"No, _you_ don't be a fool, Bail!" Obi-Wan cries. "For the love of the Force – listen to me! Can't you see I'm trying to keep you _safe_? You can't come with me."

"No," Bail says, stubbornly, foolishly, _politicianly_, and he doesn't even think that's a word. "You aren't fit to go in there alone. We can –"

_For the love of the Force, is this man deaf? _"_Bail!_" he yells, silencing the man._ "_I realise you're malnourished, sleep-deprived, and quite possibly concussed, but I need you to _listen_ to me, _very closely_. If you come in with me, _I might kill you, with or without my lightsaber._ That is something neither of us can afford. I need to go in there without distractions to find the holocron that's doing this to us, and hopefully find something that will help us get off this planet. _Stay here_." He wrenches his arm from Bail's hold. "Make sure he doesn't follow," he tells Bria, and she nods. Then he turns his back on the man and woman who have helped him get this far, helped him stay alive, managed to keep his sanity intact long enough to reach this point. Behind him he's dimly aware of Bail struck silent, fear and hurt pulsing off him. He can't afford to worry about Bail's feelings – can't afford to think of anything but surviving long enough to destroy the source of the darkness.

Walking – no, _limping_, for he hasn't walked properly for ten months and it's worse now than it ever was, and that's saying something – towards the temple's tall open doors sends his mind reeling. It's like trying to walk into an inferno, and yet at the same time it feels like he's caught in an ocean rip that's dragging him further and further into the deep ocean.

_Come to me…_

The urge to surrender, and just let the rip take him, is almost overwhelming.

_Come to me to die, Jidai…_

So easy to succumb, to fall down and find – not peace, because peace is a lie, but _absence of pain_. Absence of suffering.

But that would make him like Xanatos. Weak. Qui-Gon deserves so much better. Bail Organa deserves better, because surrender will doom him too, and make his wife a widow. Bria-Lin deserves better – the poor girl, hasn't she endured enough? Her lover's death, this _Owen Kenobi_, a name which sounds so familiar and makes his heart clench in agony when he hears it, then suffering at the hands of her trusted captain who let the darkness twist him into a mockery of himself – and still she stands strong. He must be strong as well, then, for her.

And for Anakin. Anakin deserves better –

"_ANAKIN HATES YOU!"_

With a strangled cry, the voice batters him to the cold floor. Shuddering, he looks around – he's somehow made it to a chamber filled with alcoves set into the temple's walls, filled with thousands of scrolls and artefacts. The pulsing black heart of the temple.

But he can't move. He's on his knees and he doesn't think he can get back up.

_Die Jedi, die Jedi, die Jedi, die –_

"Force give me strength," he chokes out, but the voice drowns his pathetic plea with a mocking laugh.

"_The Force has abandoned you."_

He will not cry. He _will not cry._ "Help me…" he begs, closing his eyes. "Anakin, help me…"

"_Anakin isn't here, Obi-Wan,"_ the voice spits. Before him, he sees a man, his figure half-hidden in the shadows. He can't see his face because his back is facing him, but he keeps talking_. "Anakin hates you for the way you treated him, and he hates you even more for your lust for him. He wanted a father, a brother. A family. He trusted you, and this is how you repay him? By lusting after him? You repulsive excuse for a human being."_

The _don't listen, it's not real_ argument fails him. Because everything the darkness is hissing – it _is_ real. "What are you?" he whispers. This enemy – he must have a face. If Obi-Wan can just _see_ it, perhaps he might have a chance, because he remembers someone, sometime telling him that the only thing anyone has to fear is fear itself –

"_I am many things,"_ the shadow replies in his own voice_. "I am generous, because I give as much as I take. I embrace your light where it tries to recoil from me. I am patient, because I waited twenty-five years, then another eleven, for you to hear me, and I can wait longer. I can wait for as long as I need to…"_

Obi-Wan shivers.

"…_because eventually, even the stars burn out."_

"No."

"_And I always win…because I am everywhere, even where I cannot be seen, especially from you."_

"_Who_ are you?" he demands hoarsely. "Answer me!"

"_You still do not know?"_ It sounds amused.

"Turn around and let me see your face so that I _may_ know. Or are you too much of a coward?" he spits. _Yes, that's right, Kenobi, _taunt_ it – that'll do wonders for your chances of survival._

"_Coward? How can I be a coward when I am just a reflection of a true person who is too frightened to see?_

"THEN TURN AROUND AND FACE ME!"

It laughs. _"Such anger, Obi-Wan. Where have you been hiding that, I wonder?"_

Slowly the shadow turns.

"_The same place, I imagine, where you have been hiding me. Except you can't hide me, not any longer,"_ it says. _He_ says.

"No," he hears himself say, because he can't possibly be seeing this, _it isn't real_ –

Blue-green eyes glint maliciously in the darkness. His clean, unbloodied face smiles coldly._ "Yes. Because I _am_ you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. The flesh and blood and spirit of you, everything you try to hide from. But you can't hide from the shadow you cast here, not on Zigoola. You can't hide from the darkness in your own heart anymore."_

He watches himself – a perverted, twisted, apparition of himself – walk closer and kneel in front of him, and shudders when a freezing cold hand strokes his face. And he's completely powerless to stop it, to push himself away.

"_Oh, Obi-Wan…"_ the apparition sighs, voice genteel, so understanding and comforting. _"You always liked doing things the hard way, didn't you? It doesn't need to be like that anymore. Come now. Let me help you."_

Cold lips kiss his right cheek.

"_Love me."_

His left cheek now.

"_Embrace me."_

Icy cold lips seal over his, breathing black air into his mouth and lungs, tainting him. It feels so real, the pressure of parted cold chapped lips against his, moving gently and poisonously, biting his lower lip and dragging it softly between his teeth. He's frozen, unable to pull away in horror and disgust. It seems an age until his apparition moves back.

"_Jidai…"_

His own darkness.

Because the only dark side of the Force…is what has already been inside him.

He starts to weep. _It's over. I've lost. Die, Jedi – fine, take me, just finish it –_

Laughter. "_You needn't die. Just take my hand, and I can make it all go away. All you have to do is take my hand, Obi-Wan."_

Through the blur of tears, he sees the apparition before him, standing, holding out his hand as though it's a lifeline. He knows what will happen if he takes it. The only thing is, he actually _wants_ to. It will end this torture if he just gives in. His fingernails claw at his face, as if trying to scrape the sins off his skin.

_I can make it all go away._

Qui-Gon. Tayvor Mandirly. The firebeetles. Anakin.

He could do it.

Shakily, he stretches his arm out. Closer, closer… fingertips almost touching. He can feel the cold emanating from its skin. Just a small distance to close, and all of this will end –

_Obi-Wan!_

The second Obi-Wan is pushed into the background as another appears before him, kneeling like he is, wavering, but not cold like the other one. This one is warm and pulsing and he chokes on the confusion.

_Get up. Fight this._

The voice. That voice! "Anakin…?"

_You're stronger than this. Don't listen – whatever it's telling you, it's wrong. It's _wrong_, Obi-Wan. Come on, you have to get up. Don't take what it offers because it isn't you, whatever you might think. Please, Obi-Wan…_

All he can see is Dooku swiping Anakin's arm off, hearing his scream of agony and shock. _Is that what would have happened if you hadn't jumped? _"Oh, Anakin, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry – forgive me –"

_Obi-Wan!_

And then the apparition wraps his arms around Obi-Wan, pulling him into an embrace, and all he can feel is warmth and love and _hope_ – he chokes on a sob and the vision-Anakin takes his face between his hands and presses his lips to Obi-Wan's.

It's like a fire that doesn't burn. A hearth. _Home_. The Sith hisses and recoils in the background but all Obi-Wan is aware of is the feel of Anakin's mouth moving against his, slow and tantalising and so _right_. It takes an age and no time at all, and he whimpers at the loss when Anakin pulls back, but Anakin is still holding his face, looking into his eyes.

_Don't give up. I need you._

And then he disappears, leaving Obi-Wan on his own, on his knees in the middle of a hissing, furious temple. The other Obi-Wan is still there, holding out his hand, but its eyes are red and yellow and its face twisted into disgust.

_I will have you, Kenobi. You will be mine…_

He staggers to his feet, facing the apparition. "I will never be yours," he spits. "You've failed, _Sith_."

It snarls and recoils, wavering, but it can't harm him now so he turns away, ignoring it. _It has no power over me. I will never be like that._

Outside he senses both Bria-Lin and Bail, crushed to the ground by the battering of the dark side, feeding their negative emotions and thoughts. Bail, weeping for his wife's miscarriages and still-born children and his mother's grief, and Bria-Lin – _oh, Bria_ – screaming and begging with a Gerald Su'Lac who isn't really there, _no, p-please, PLEASE – OH GODS – NO, NO – GERALD –_

But through the darkness he clings to the hope and light of Anakin's warmth, letting it guide him until he finds the pulsing Sith holocron. It's a strangely beautiful object – an ancient black glass pyramid with Sith sigils tracing its surface blood-red, the same colour of Dooku's lightsaber and the tattooed skin of the Zabrak on Naboo. It feels alive in his fingers, freezing cold but pulsating with everything he's ever feared, twisting it into anger then hatred then suffering. Such a small thing – how is it possible for it to be so powerful? _This_ insignificant thing is what tore five ships out of lightspeed and brought them crashing into the planet's surface? He picks it up and stares at it, shaking. It burns his hands but it's a superficial burn, nothing compared to the heat and power coursing through his veins, nothing compared to Anakin. He can feel Anakin beside him, holding his shoulder, holding him up, and with a strangled cry he throws the vile holocron to the floor.

_"NO __–!"_ The Sith's apparition screams, and thousands of glass pieces shatter across the floor, hissing and flickering and dying, and finally, _finally –_

It's all silent. All he can hear in the chamber is his own breath, heavy breaths and gasps for air. Shakily he slides down and trembles.

The temple trembles with him.

Glancing up in horror, he sees ominous cracks split the walls and rip across the ornate ceiling. The mortar crumbles to the ground, and he knows that if he doesn't move soon he'll be killed when the temple comes down around him. He didn't see it before – the corners are eroded and the pillars splintered with cracks. Everything about this place looks frail.

_That holocron was keeping it together with the dark side, for thousands of years – and I just destroyed it._

He lurches to his feet, yelling when his leg burns, and his gaze tears around the chamber, searching for something, _anything_, to contact the nearest system with – surely here there'd be a communication device that will work.

As the first slab of ceiling crashes to the ground, he sees it, not too far away. The crumbling ceiling hinders his path to it but when he gets there, he clutches at the ancient system, leaning on it as if it's the only thing keeping him alive. He won't be able to reach all the way to Kamino with this; all he'll be able to get across is a small, nearly insignificant message to the Rishi base, and if the range can make it it may just be enough. The coordinates to the Rishi moon base are shaky in his mind but he's sure they're the right ones and he's sure he's contacting the right channel. He types out something as the system begins to flicker – something with the words _help_ and _trapped_ and _Salvation Run clear_ and _Friends_ and _Kamino_ and _Jedi_, hitting the transmit button just before the system dies altogether.

He gasps against the now-useless device as the temple rocks and crumbles around him, and he's too spent to do anything. His mind is free and flicking at his fingertips is the Force, so long denied to him, but his body refuses to move. From somewhere outside, someone is shouting his name, again and again –

_"Get out of there, Obi-Wan, you mad fool, the building's going to come down! Get out of there now!"_

Yes, well, that'd be much easier if his leg hadn't impulsively decided to stop listening to his brain. Bail, yelling again, joined by Bria-Lin's voice. He ducks as a chunk of ceiling misses his head by a whisper, just as the Senator – stupid man, for someone who was supposed to be intelligent – appears in the drunkenly swaying chamber doorway. He lunges towards Obi-Wan – like a fool, like an idiot, just like a politician, convinced the laws of nature do _not_ apply to him – and runs through the dying Sith temple.

"Are you insane?" Obi-Wan exclaims. "Get out of here!"

"You're welcome," Bail pants, dragging him to his feet and hoisting Obi-Wan's arm over his shoulders.

They bolt – well, stagger, in Obi-Wan's case – for safety, with the Sith temple throwing jagged slabs of rock at them with every unstable step. The pillars crash before and behind them and the doorway arches crack, closing in, but Obi-Wan can see the sunlight at the end of the corridor. Bria-Lin's slender figure waits at the front, screaming for them to get out, _get out, faster_, because rocks are crashing at their heels, until they're knocked through the entrance by the force of the temple falling in on itself, screaming and hissing as it dies. Bail curses and drags him away from the flying rock, covering his face with his arm to stop the gathering dust from choking him.

Then finally, blessed silence. All he can hear is Bail's shaky breathing and his heartbeat. One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three –

"Bail, get away from him."

Bria-Lin stands over them, Obi-Wan's lightsaber firm in her grip, watching Obi-Wan's face. It's not ignited, but it's no less dangerous in her capable hands. Bail blinks at her, not understanding. "Bria –"

"I mean it, Bail."

Bail is hesitant, but he has enough common sense to listen to the woman with a lightsaber. She stares deep into his eyes, as if searching for something. Obi-Wan doesn't move, doesn't speak; he knows what she's looking for. After a suspended, tense moment, Bria-Lin sighs shakily and moves back. She pulls the utility belt off and thrusts it at him, along with his lightsaber.

"Here," she says, voice choked with relief. "I don't think I need to hold onto it anymore."

When his fingers close around the cool metal of his lightsaber, it takes every modicum of willpower to hold back the tears. She sits down next to him, hugging her knees, and Bail rejoins them.

"What happened in there?" she asks.

"D-Destroyed the holocron," he croaks out. "I found a – a communications device. I managed to contact… the Rishi moon base, before the temple came down. They'll contact Kamino. It's okay. Help is coming. Three days, maybe, now that the run can be used. But they know we're here. They can trace the coordinates from this place, and we'll be saved."

"Help is… coming?" Bail says slowly, as if he can't believe it.

There's no absolute proof of anything of the sort, but somehow he just _knows_, open to the Force again after so long. "Yes."

"Oh, thank Force," Bail whispers, and collapses onto the rock. Obi-Wan and Bria-Lin follow his suit until all three of them are lying side-by-side on a rock, staring up at the foggy sky. They say nothing, knowing that whatever they do will sound contrived and overly sentimental, and none of them are in the mood for that. The daze, that their torment is over and that against all odds, they're _alive_, is enough for now.

It's hours before they speak again. "Look," Bria-Lin whispers, pointing up at the sky. Obi-Wan follows her gaze to the fog that obscures the orange colours of the setting sun, and feels his mouth go dry.

"The fog. It's disappearing."

Stunned silence. Then Bria-Lin begins to weep, and Obi-Wan holds her closer, feeling a tear slide down his own cheek. Bail rests a hand on his shoulder, and the three stay huddled together before the ruins of the temple until well after the sun disappears below the horizon.


	32. Need, Part One

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

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Wow! After a month, I'm back. I am so incredibly sorry for the delay – this chapter just took forever. In fact, it's still taking forever, because I've split it up into two parts. I hope you don't mind receiving a shorter-than-usual chapter, but I've been considering cutting down on the average word count per chapter so that I can post more frequently. Nevertheless, I still hope you enjoy this chapter! A massive, massive thank-you to these amazing people who took the time to review the previous chapter: ObiBettina7, charliebrown1234, crystalclear88, Valairy Scot, Ryen Selenity Caliburn, imagination theater, maraudersbanana, witch20, donahermurphy, Takianna, XxKenobiGirlxX, Eternal Dreamwalker, Live4StarWars, BiteMeGirl388, Shanowa, Yannika, zugless, wolfofsummerbreeze, imaginaryfriend09, Megan McCarthy Cullen, Lady Almaren, pauliina, AlmaDelCore, pronker, littlelionluvr, eukaryote, Annonymous, Arthea, White Sherry, TempleMistress, satu, Angel of Immortality, RepublicGurl, cinnabonme, Helisse, Rosetera, mei, midnight13731, Inthara, Kelly Tolkien, coeurcasse, Taliesin Stormlaw, DestructiveGlory, Tammallamma, and Saimhe.

Your encouragement made this chapter possible. I'm so sorry I haven't had the time to reply to your beautiful reviews, but please know that I deeply appreciate every single one of them and your incredible support. Thank you all so much, and I hope you enjoy! This (half) of a chapter is dedicated to everyone who reviewed.

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**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Twenty-Eight –  
Need

(part one)

True to Rex's promise, they make it to Kamino in two days. There he's greeted by Padmé and, surprisingly (or perhaps not shockingly enough), Valorum. He embraces Padmé with a hug and shakes Valorum's hand, trading pleasantries.

"The security levels on Coruscant have tightened," Padmé tells him, when he asks about the situation on Coruscant. She sounds grim and exhausted – she must have been expending all of her energy, focusing on the aftermath of the bombings. Guilty, Anakin is grateful he wasn't there to deal with it. "There's talk of a curfew being introduced…" Padmé continues. "Palpatine is employing spy droids. It's terrible."

Something in that tone makes Anakin frown, as if she thinks the new security is terrible, not the circumstances behind it. Anakin hasn't seen Palpatine in… months, and he doesn't exactly have a crushing desire to now either, but he's always believed Palpatine to do the right thing when it comes to the Republic. "Security measures are necessary to keep people safe."

"At the expense of freedom?"

"Who said anything about it being at the expense of freedom? How many people died in that attack, Padmé? Obi-Wan was nearly one of them! Sometimes what we want isn't what we need, and right now people need to be as safe. If increased security is what it means, I say fine."

Before Padmé can snap back, Valorum swiftly interrupts. "Security is a vital part of protection, and at the moment Coruscant is a large target for attacks by the unreasonable," he says. "Do not let your ideals cloud common sense, Padmé. It is not the security measures that trouble me. Look deeper."

They share a look – clearly passing a message between them that Anakin has no hope of understanding, and the conversation is ended. Padmé sighs, and Valorum spares another glance for Anakin before watching two young boys, identical to each other in every physical aspect, run down the corridor. "Perhaps we ought to start cloning Senators," he says contemplatively.

"Finis, we're trying to make the galaxy a better place, not worse. Don't be ridiculous," Padmé says haughtily, but she's smiling. Valorum laughs and touches her arm – Anakin catches the light blush that colours her cheeks at this – before turning away to talk with a Kaminoan.

Anakin takes in the banter with unconcealed fascination. "Valorum?" he murmurs close to Padmé's ear when the elder man moves out of earshot. "He's a little… _old_ for you, isn't he?"

Padmé flushes. "I'm quite sure I don't know what you're talking about, Anakin Skywalker."

And that's the answer to _that_ question. Amazingly, there's no surge of jealousy or anger – no sense of betrayal, like he'd feared he'd get when he found out Padmé had moved on – and this fills him with so much relief he closes his eyes for a second. Because after everything, he's moved on too. The admiration and fondness will always be there, but not the passion, for that was expended months ago. Not the crushing love, which intoxicated him. It's replaced by something else, and _someone_ else.

Still, he hides a grimace; Valorum is almost certainly too old for Padmé, but he isn't one to criticise her choices. As long as she knows what she's getting into… "You'd better watch out," he whispers conspiringly in her ear. "Lustoria's next novel might be _The Clandestine Romps of Valorum and Amidala_ if you're not caref-URRK –!"

"Oops, my elbow slipped," Padmé says icily to his doubled-over figure.

_Okay, I deserved that._ "Seriously, though," he half-wheezes, standing back up. "He's like seventy or something."

"Sixty."

"Because that's so much better."

"We're just friends, Anakin!" Padmé snaps, and Anakin holds up his hands in defeat, even though her face is still furiously red.

"All right, all right! I'm sorry."

He's still not entirely sure what he feels about all of this. It was… inevitable, really, that Padmé would find someone else, and he's happy about that. It's liberating, actually, realising that Padmé, too, has someone now. Someone who means to her what Obi-Wan means to him.

(So, okay, things aren't romantic with Obi-Wan like he suspects they are – or will be – with Padmé and Valorum.)

(But he… sometimes sort of… _hopes_ they might.)

He flushes. It's a hidden fantasy, a secret desire, nothing more. Ages ago, he wasn't lying when he thought Obi-Wan was a solid fifteen on a scale of one to ten. Obi-Wan is attractive. Anakin hasn't been attracted to men before, but this isn't because Obi-Wan is a man – it's because he's _Obi-Wan_, and Obi-Wan is entirely appealing. It's also something he'd never ask of him, because he knows it'll never be fulfilled, and it doesn't need to anyway, because all it really means is that their relationship has reached the next logical level, at least to him. And everything they have now? They've been at that point for months, and the only way they can get any closer is by taking that final 'forbidden' step_._ That isn't something he thinks will ever be available, because Obi-Wan has given no indication he feels more than a platonic love for Anakin. So it remains a wistful longing, unsought, because he wouldn't trade what he (normally) has with Obi-Wan for the galaxy.

Besides, right now, there's something far more important to think about. Like Obi-Wan's life. Wherever he is, whatever is happening to him, he needs help. The bond stings ever so subtly with muted pain, far on the other end, and it's torture to know he can't do anything.

_If I could just reach him somehow…_

He bites his lower lip. He's never tried to reach Obi-Wan across their bond over such a distance. Other Jedi say it's impossible, but… what if it _isn't?_ What if he _can_ reach Obi-Wan? Their bond isn't a training one anymore – hasn't been than for a long time. It's deeper, stronger, despite their mutual attempts to block it before the bombings and Bothawui and Salvation Run crises broke out.

All he needs to do is meditate.

He holds back a shudder. "Please excuse me," he courteously says to Padmé and Valorum, who are busy discussing something, and tries to make his way from the room.

"Where are you going?" Padmé is quick to ask.

"To, um, meditate."

"You, meditate?"

"Why does everyone look at me strangely when I say that?" Anakin says, bewildered, then sighs. "Well, look, it's… it's about Obi-Wan. I'm really worried about him. I think he's in trouble."

Padmé pales. "Obi-Wan's in trouble?" she repeats. "What kind of trouble?"

"I'm not exactly sure. But it's really bad, and he needs help," Anakin says, and heads off towards his temporary quarters.

"Oh, no…" Padmé murmurs behind him. "If he's in trouble that means Bail is as well. Those foolish, _foolish_ men…"

_You got that right, Padmé._

Minutes later, he's alone in his room. On the floor, a meditation mat. Anakin kneels on it, and prepares himself.

He's never liked meditation. It's too still, too inactive, for someone like Anakin, who needs constant motion. He prefers what he calls 'moving meditation' – losing himself in the Force as he fixes a droid, or repairs a speeder, or performs katas. Movement, and reflection. It's the only kind he actually knows how to do on his own. Meditating on Dantooine with Obi-Wan, all those months ago, wasn't quite the same – he'd been with Obi-Wan in a joint, intimate meditation. Mingling his Force signature with Obi-Wan's was a wonderful feeling – it gave him something to concentrate on.

But this is different. This is _wildly_ different.

He just hopes that what he's about attempt won't kill him. So he closes his eyes. Focuses. Puts his trust in the Force.

_Obi-Wan, _he tells the Force. _Help me find Obi-Wan._

And he lets the Force consume him.

* * *

_It's cold. That's the first thing feels. He hates the cold, absolutely despises it – it penetrates his core, as if seeping through his body to settle in his centre, freezing him from the inside out. A child borne of the desert can never get used to the sub-temperatures, or the weight of it. He shivers, remembering standing before the circle of Jedi Masters, a small, fightened nine-year-old boy freed of slavery and taken into a galaxy he knew almost nothing about._

Much fear, I sense in you.

_Much fear. In him. Haunting words. They've never left him. Yoda sensed his fear, the others sensed it – it's like a black virus that exists deep inside him, the same place the cold of space settles. It's what makes him work harder than the other Padawans his age, fight harder than other Jedi, make him strive to be the best he can be so he doesn't have to lose anyone else._

_Qui-Gon Jinn._

_Shmi._

_Very nearly Obi-Wan, too many times to count._

_Because Anakin Skywalker defines himself by the ones he loves. Without them, he is nothing, and he cannot imagine a life without them. _Fears _to imagine a life without them. Perhaps it is selfish, but he will do anything – absolutely anything, go to any lengths – to protect them. He's already failed once: wasn't fast enough, wasn't strong enough, wasn't powerful enough. He watched on helplessly as his mother fell limp in his arms, body broken and bleeding. _

_The pain was like nothing he'd ever felt before. There's a part of him that will always be missing now – nothing will ever fill the void. Over time, it's lessened – releasing his anger and hatred the only way he knew how to – but somewhere, inside, it's a gaping wound to remind him of his failure._

_Which is why he cannot – _cannot_ – leave Obi-Wan to the same fate, the way he almost did once. Because Obi-Wan Kenobi has become more to Anakin Skywalker in the past ten months than he's ever been for the tumultuous eleven years before Geonosis. Obi-Wan Kenobi is not just his former Master, or the man who raised him to adulthood. Obi-Wan Kenobi is the man he can't live without – his other half, the one who keeps him in balance. The one who is there when Anakin stumbles, the one who is right there to pick him back up. And lately, it's been more even – when Obi-Wan stumbles, Anakin is there. Because Obi-Wan Kenobi is as human as Anakin is._

_And right now, the balance is tipped badly – in Obi-Wan's direction. Across the wide expanse of galaxy between them, Anakin can feel it. It's like a poison, colder than the chill of space, more deadly than the fear which roils deep inside him, gripping his heart. _

Oh, Obi-Wan, what have you gotten yourself into…

_He follows the bond, tracing it to the man on the other end. It's hard – the distance between them has stretched it to its limit, but Anakin, fuelled by the Force, picks up the trail when he loses it. In lightspeed, the journey to wherever Obi-Wan is – trapped halfway between the Roche Asteroids and Kamino – would only take two days. At normal speed, a whole week. He doesn't have either of those. He has perhaps a few hours._

_The desperation on the other end of the bond is agonising. Physical or mental pain, he can't tell, but he finds himself praying it is the former, because Obi-Wan can heal from that. The mental pain will take much longer. He pushes himself faster, focusing only on the person on the other side, ignoring everything else around him because the cold is a distraction, the whispering is a distraction, the shadows are –_

_Shadows?_

_This coldness – it isn't natural. It's colder than anything he's ever felt, and he falters, just for a moment._

_It's enough; the shadow pounces._

"Obi-Wan?"_ Anakin blurts out, but the dark simmer in Obi-Wan's eyes tells him that this isn't Obi-Wan at all._

"_Poor pathetic Anakin. You thought I would ever love you?" the false Obi-Wan spits. "I am a Jedi, Anakin. Jedi don't love."_

_It's like a slice across his chest, but… but that's wrong, because Obi-Wan told him only months ago that he loves him. He's tried to deny what he feels because he's afraid – if there's one thing Anakin hates the Order for, it's for teaching Obi-Wan that love is wrong. What was his childhood like, he wonders? In the visions crashing around him he sees his own, Gardulla the Hutt and cruel people, someone slapping him at the age of four, watching a woman bleed to death giving birth to a child that doesn't even live past its second day, and a man dying of infection from whip wounds in the cramped slave quarters – but through all of that, he had his mother to hold him, sing to him, and tell him that this isn't the life either of them deserve, that it's better elsewhere, that he is Anakin Skywalker, more than a slave. He remembers her soft voice, singing him to sleep, a lullaby in a lyrical language he doesn't know, but the tune lingers, drowning out the horrors of his youth. At least he had her – at least he knew what love was. He doesn't think he would have survived his childhood if it were not for her. _

_Then he imagines Obi-Wan's childhood – he's been to the crèches. It's cold and sterile there, and the babies don't even get to keep toys. He knows the Jedi don't pick up crying babies to soothe them – he witnessed it once. It's to teach them about non-attachment, was the excuse. He tried to sing a small baby girl to sleep once, rubbing her back – he was fourteen at the time, maybe, and the Jedi in charge told him not to come by often or go to the same child more than once because babies are more inclined to form emotional attachments than when they're older._

_It sickened him. He screamed about it to Obi-Wan that night, saying that it was brutal and not right, and how can the Jedi do this? How can _you _do this?_

"_It mightn't be kind, Anakin, but it is wise," he remembers Obi-Wan told him, tone sad but firm. "It teaches a child from an early age to not form attachments."_

_He didn't realise at the time, but he does now – that was Obi-Wan's childhood as well. A childhood where no-one picked him up when he cried, or sung to him, or let him play with toys. A childhood deprived of emotional attachment. A childhood that taught him attachment was bad._

_How, then, would go through adulthood believing anything different?_

_To imagine Obi-Wan as a child, in his crib in the crèche, crying for someone, and no-one coming, breaks his heart. All of his hesitation, his fears about attachment, it makes sense now. And it just makes Anakin more determined to show him that it isn't something to be afraid of. Because the Jedi are wrong about that. _

_Anakin Skywalker defines himself by the ones he loves. Without them, he is nothing, and he cannot imagine a life without them. He can't imagine a life without Obi-Wan. Perhaps it is selfish – but it's also selfless. Saving Obi-Wan isn't about saving himself anymore – even though he can't imagine a life without him, he knows it is possible. Painful, and unbearable to think about, but possible. And when it is Obi-Wan's real time to go, Anakin will accept that. But the Coruscant bombings weren't his fate. Death is a natural part of life – even the stars burn out. But the Coruscant bombings felt unnatural, the Force screaming at him that it wasn't right. Anakin Skywalker listens to the Force – his creator, his ally. And right now, it's telling that Salvation Run isn't to be Obi-Wan Kenobi's fate either. And he needs help. Now. The way Obi-Wan helped Anakin when he was on the verge of losing himself to his own darkness. It's a balance – and it's time it's balanced once more._

_The false Obi-Wan, still sneering lies, shatters, and Anakin follows the wavering bond – tense with fear – to its source, through the coldness and shdows. The whispers get louder and louder and it gets harder to push through – it's almost painful, and it gets colder as he gets closer to the source of the monstrosity. Even though it hurts him, there's something seductive about it – if he listens, he can hear it promising a life without pain, promising him the power to save the ones he loves, the ability to stop people from dying._

_He doesn't listen. He doesn't listen, because even though the taste of it is first as sweet as honey, he knows what the aftertaste is. A poison, Obi-Wan called it, and it was the taste in his mouth after he slaughtered the Tusken Raiders. Lingering on his tongue when he raged at Obi-Wan on the way back to Coruscant after Geonosis. Something that, if he'd let it, would have spread through the rest of his body._

_The dark side is many things. It is generous, because it promises to give as much as it takes. It is patient, because it can wait. And it will always win, because it is everywhere. It is already inside Anakin, in his fears, and one day it might win._

_If he lets it._

_Because to let it win – that's a choice. And it won't be a choice he'll make, not anymore. Giving into his fears will be making himself a slave again, to a different, crueller master than the ones on Tatooine. But most of all, giving into his fears is something Obi-Wan would never want him to do, even at the expense of his life. Anakin will do anything and everything to save the man he loves – but he won't turn to the darkness, or accept what it offers, _because_ he loves him. _

_Another wall crumbles, and in the haze of his vision he finds himself in a temple, next to the burning cold source of darkness, and in front of Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, on his knees, weeping, holding out his hand to a shadow forged by the centre of darkness, taking the image of a perversion of everything he is, and he's on the verge of giving up –_

Obi-Wan! _He shouts, and suddenly the barrier shatters and he's kneeling in front of Obi-Wan. He's there, and yet he isn't – whatever this is, it's extraordinary, and the shadows around him can't touch him anymore. Obi-Wan is on his hands and knees, reaching out to a shadow, so close to the thing that's causing the darkness._

"Get up,"_ Anakin says. _"Fight this."

_Obi-Wan stares at his figure, unseeing and confused, but surely he's heard, surely he can hear him through the bond –_

"_Anakin…?"_

"You're stronger than this," _Anakin tells him, nearly choking on the rush of emotion. How many days has Obi-Wan been fighting this thing? What has it been telling him?_

_How close is he to listening?_

"Don't listen – whatever it's telling you, it's wrong," _he says. _"It's _wrong_, Obi-Wan. Come on, you have to get up. Don't take what it offers because it isn't you, whatever you might think. Please, Obi-Wan…"

_Please, listen. Listen._

Trust me.

_Obi-Wan's figure is wracked by a sob. "Oh, Anakin, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry – forgive me –"_

"Obi-Wan!"

_He doesn't know what else to do, so he acts on instinct. Past experience has taught him that acting without thinking doesn't always end well – but he always knows now that acting on feeling isn't always wrong either. In his transmitted form, he wraps his arms around the man he loves and pulls him into an embrace, burning with emotion, giving him hope, giving _himself_ hope. Obi-Wan chokes on another sob and Anakin takes his face – it feels so real, as if he really is there in the flesh, not just an apparition – and seals his lips over Obi-Wan's._

_It's incredible. It's like a fire, but it doesn't burn or hurt – this is _home_. The shadows hiss and recoil around them but he doesn't pay attention to them, they can't hurt him or Obi-Wan anymore, and focuses on the feel of Obi-Wan's mouth moving against his, slow and desperate and so perfect, something they should have done months ago but didn't realise they needed or wanted. Because Anakin knows now, without any doubt, that this is what they both need and want more than anything._

_But this isn't over for Obi-Wan, not yet. He feels his strength faltering, the strain of his Force powers taking their toll on his body. He won't last much longer, he has to make these last moments count. After what feels an age he unwillingly pulls away from their surreal kiss, still holding Obi-Wan's face._

"Don't give up," _he whispers. _"I need you."

_And then everything blacks out._

_

* * *

_

The white, sterile floor is cold beneath him, but it's a very different cold to the one he experienced in his out-of-body state. It's a natural cold, superficial chill on skin, and it's enough to rouse him from a thick unconsciousness. He groans and keeps his eyes clenched shut, vaguely aware of every bone in his body cringing in pain. It's akin to waking up with a hangover, except worse. His limbs feel as heavy as durasteel and all over his body he can feel the dampness of cold sweat. He coughs weakly and groans when a throbbing ache wracks his body.

_Dear Force. I don't think I'll ever try that again._

But it… it _worked_. It worked!

He tries to sit up with a gasp, but his body doesn't obey and he ends up dropping his head back onto the floor with a loud 'thunk', followed by a pathetic-sounding "owww…" It's only then he realises how badly he's shaking, like he's going into shock, and he clenches his jaw before bravely opening his eyes.

No darkness. No shadows. He's in his room, sprawled across the floor and nearly completely immobile. There are a number of welts – or burns – on his arm that weren't there before. Anakin frowns at them through blurry eyes, still shaking.

_Whoooo._

He rubs his eyes and looks around painfully. "Artoo? Izzat…you…?"

Great, he's slurring. _This is exactly why I don't meditate…_

_Boop-beep-woot!_

Somewhere off to his right, R2-D2 is talking at him, the single witness to his meditation stunt. Anakin is fluent in Droid Speak, having taken the time to learn it at the Temple. His classmates thought him strange for doing so, and Obi-Wan found it amusing, but it's an invaluable skill. Artoo beeps and whistles loudly – even in his hazy state of mind, he can decipher the technobabble.

I WASN'T AWARE THAT SLEEPING ON THE FLOOR WAS A NORMAL PRACTICE FOR HUMAN BEINGS.

"It isn't," Anakin grumbles, pulling himself up with violently shaking arms. He collapses again, groaning. _Force, it feels like someone ran a speeder into me…_

PERHAPS YOU OUGHT TO GET UP, THEN.

Anakin rubs his shoulders. "That's what I'm _doing_," he says, this time with a firmer voice as he gets the circulation running again. He finally manages to focus on the blue-domed droid without his vision blurring. "Y'know, for a droid I rescued last week, you're not being very nice."

I RESCUED MYSELF FROM THAT R3 SPY UNIT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

"Yeah, that's what you think."

BUT I THINK MASTER KENOBI MIGHT NEED RESCUING.

"Yeah, I _know_ that, and –" It takes a beat to really understand what Artoo has just said. "Hang on, how do you know about Obi-Wan?"

A DISTRESS SIGNAL CAME THROUGH ON THE RISHI MOON BASE. I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT BE INTERESTED.

Anakin stares at the droid incredulously. "And you only thought to tell me that _now?_"

I TRIED TO WAKE YOU UP, BUT THE FLOOR MUST BE MORE COMFORTABLE FOR HUMANS THAN MY PROGRAMMING LOGICALLY TELLS ME. YOU'VE BEEN ASLEEP FOR SEVEN HOURS.

"Seven _hours?_" he repeats. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

I JUST TOLD YOU I TRIED. I EVEN SHOCKED YOU. NOTHING WORKED. LIKE I SAID, I GUESS THAT FLOOR WAS MORE COMFORTABLE THAN IS LOGICAL.

Well, that explains the light burns on his arm. Scowling, Anakin finally manages to pull himself up into a sitting position, biting back a groan of pain from the effort. "Do, or do not. There is no try," he mutters, then says louder, "Didn't you think it was strange I wasn't waking up?"

YOUR LIFESIGNALS WERE FINE SO I DIDN'T SET OFF TO FIND A HEALER. AND YOU'VE SLEPT THROUGH SHOCKS BEFORE. REMEMBER THAT TIME ON DXUN? EVEN MASTER KENOBI COULDN'T WAKE YOU UP. IT WAS QUITE AMUSING.

Anakin sighs, and pats Artoo's dome before hauling himself to his feet. "Amusing, huh?" he grunts, body protesting from the movement. _Force, I really pulled a number on myself, didn't I… Obi-Wan, you'd better appreciate this. Just you hang in there, okay? I'm coming. _"Obi-Wan's right, you _do_ have a few loose wires."

I OBJECT TO THAT STATEMENT.

* * *

Sneak peek for Chapter Twenty-Eight ("Need, Part Two"):

_"You smell really bad, Obi-Wan," Anakin mumbles into Obi-Wan's hair. Obi-Wan chuckles, his breath tickling Anakin's neck._

_"It's the scent of a man. You just don't appreciate it."_


	33. Need, Part Two

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

What happens when you cross fanfiction with University? Not much, as it transpires. I'm so sorry for the delay! I feel so terrible about not finishing this chapter sooner. In fact, it still isn't finished! There's another part to it that will hopefully come up much faster than this part did. It's short, and I'm dreadfully sorry about that, but thank you so much to everyone who took the time to review the last chapter! And also, thank you for being so patient with me! I can't wait until this Semester is over. Also an excuse for the delay is the recent situation with Borders. I'm sure some of you are aware that Borders in the US filed for bankruptcy; well, at the same time, Borders here in Australia went under Voluntary Administration and things have been hectic. The store I work at is due to close within two months, so that's been a downer. But fanficiton is here to cheer us up! I really hope you enjoy this chapter and that it was worth the wait. I think I managed to reply to everyone, but in case I've missed someone please know that I deeply appreciate your review. A massive, _massive_, thank you to:

jdovpisdhpisf, petitandrogyne, Darky4Ever, xRosePetalx, unsigned, coeurcasse, jicalazuxil, kspadawan, Avi689, winternightBliSs, pauliina, god of all, satu, Rhinemaiden Number 4, cyne, Helisse, TempleMistress, imaginaryfriend09, Arthea, Inthara, janinePSA, Annonymous, DestructiveGlory, Lady Almaren, Megan McCarthy Cullen, littlelionluvr, BiteMeGirl388, Takianna, Shanowa, XxExiledJedixX, Evarne, charliebrown1234, Ryen Selenity Caliburn, SadnessAndSorrow, Live4StarWars, maraudersbanana, donahermurphy, witch20, pronker, Valairy Scot, Kelly Tolkien, midnight13731, crystalclear88, ObiBettina7, and Saimhe.

Again, apologies if I've missed someone! If I have, please let me know so I can put you on the list. You keep me going, guys. This chapter is dedicated everyone who took the time to review.

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Twenty-Eight –  
Need

(part two)

"_Dangerous, I sense it is."_

Yes, well, Yoda also thinks breathing is dangerous, but that's neither here nor there. Anakin holds back a scowl and crosses his arms at the holoimage of the Grandmaster. "The danger has passed! Salvation Run is clear – I can sense _that_. It can be used safely now."

The old troll's ears drop and he sighs. _"The remnants of darkness, linger, they do. Still affect you especially, they can, because of your high midichlorian count. More powerful than most, you are – also more susceptible it makes you."_

"I've already been through it. It won't harm me." That's not him being cocky – it's _certainty_.

"_So confident, you are? Overconfidence leads to the dark side, young Skywalker."_

"So does fear," Anakin shoots back. _Make up your mind, already!_ "And don't think I'm asking you permission to rescue Obi-Wan – I'm doing that anyway, and you know it."

Yoda does know it, and gives up far easier than Anakin thought he would. _"Hmm. Non-Force-sensitives, we should send as well."_

"The Clones?"

"_Yes. A team of Clones, sent with yourself and Senator Amidala should be."_

Padmé? Now that's ridiculously dangerous – Yoda _seriously_ needs to sort out his priorities –

"I accept, Master Yoda," Padmé says behind him, standing forward, and Anakin is close to rolling his eyes in frustration. _Of course she does._

Padmé glances at him with a hint of reproach, as if she can tell exactly what he's thinking. "If Obi-Wan needs help then that means Senator Organa also needs help," she continues, looking back at Yoda now. "I can leave straight away. My ship is ready."

There's a knock on the door panel. Anakin looks over to see Rex hovering outside. "Rex?"

"Sir, I've just spoken with the men on Rishi moon base – they managed to trace the coordinates of General Kenobi's transmission. We have their location," Rex tells him. Yoda's holotransmission nods gravely.

"_Then act quickly, we must. A rescue mission, this is now. May the Force be with you all."_

Anakin hides a grateful smile. "And with you, Master Yoda."

After Yoda's holoimage disappears, Padmé contacts the spaceport to warn them to expect her, Anakin, and the clone detachment.

"Wild Space – those foolish men, what were they _thinking…_" she mutters, grabbing a flight suit and some spare clothes from the bag she brought with her to Kamino.

Anakin nearly snorts. _When it comes to Obi-Wan, probably not much._ Well, that's not entirely true – Obi-Wan is thoughtful and intelligent and surely would have known what sort of mess he'd get himself into, but the fact that he _keeps doing it…_

_Do you do any different?_

The inner voice sounds suspiciously like Obi-Wan, and Anakin holds back a smile as he hassles her to hurry up. His voice isn't the only one, though; Valorum hovers in the doorway looking regal and, as always, unimpressed with _something_. (Anakin has a sneaking suspicion it's _him_ Valorum is unimpressed with; if he's totally honest with himself, he's a little_…_ intimidated by the man.)

"Where are you off to in such a rush, Senator Amidala?"

"To rescue Bail," she replies.

Valorum arches an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware he needed rescuing."

"Neither was I, but Master Kenobi needs rescuing, and if Obi-Wan needs rescuing then Bail almost certainly needs rescuing too."

The elder man nods. "Is Knight Skywalker accompanying you?"

"Yes, Knight Skywalker is," Anakin responds for Padmé, earning a raised eyebrow from Valorum and a half-hearted scowl from Padmé.

"I see. I suspect there is still room for one more on your ship," Valorum continues, addressing Padmé again.

"Well, yes, but –"

"Good. I'll see you in the hangar in five minutes, then."

With another nod at Anakin and a subtle smile at Padmé, Valorum turns on his heel and disappears, presumably to gather belongings for the rescue mission he just invited himself to. Anakin stares after him. "Pushy, isn't he?"

"I thought it was called aggressive negotiations."

If _that_ isn't the icing on the cake, Anaking doesn't know what is. "I _knew_ it!" he crows, and Padmé surreptitiously kicks him.

* * *

As promised, the detachment of Clone troopers are waiting for them at the spaceport, heavily and reassuringly armed. Five soldiers and their leader, disconcertingly alike. But only on the outside, Anakin tells himself. He's fought by so many of these men's sides for so many months not to know that they aren't the same. Same ideals, same face, same genes, same purpose, but underneath that a different personality. One more forceful than another. One who jokes more than his friend. One who's a bit quieter, but more deadly on the battlefield.

"Commander Skywalker, Senator Amidala," greets the Clone leader when he and Padmé approach. It isn't Rex – the 501st has just been called away urgently and Anakin doesn't know when he'll be reunited with his troops. The Clone trooper salutes, his bulky helmet neatly tucked under his arm. "Captain Korbel, reporting."

"Captain, pleased to meet you," Anakin says.

"We're most appreciative of your help," Padmé adds.

"Have you been briefed by Master Yoda?"

Korbel nods. "Certainly have. We're all fully medic-trained, so that won't be a problem. We'll take good care of the general and Senator Organa."

Through the Force, Anakin can feel Padmé's shock. "I'm sorry. Medic-trained? I wasn't – I don't understand. Are you saying they're injured?"

Oh. She didn't know. Of _course_ she wouldn't know. Anakin winces. He knows Obi-Wan is injured – he always is, so much so that Anakin would have been surprised if he _hadn't_ felt punches of pain batter their bond. What had Padmé thought? That Obi-Wan and Organa were simply trapped on a planet, waiting idly by to be picked up?

Anakin shakes his head. _That's not fair. She doesn't know what it's like out here. She couldn't have known._

And yet, he finds himself envying her naivety, just a little.

They're joined shortly by Valorum, who doesn't look at all surprised to see a team of medic-trained clones. Perhaps a bit _sad_ about it, but it was almost as though he'd expected it. Smart man, Anakin thinks. More worldly than Padmé. Perhaps he'll even teach her some subtlety, Force knows she needs it…

* * *

To distract himself, and because he doesn't care to let himself fall behind, he plunges into furious katas. Sweat covers his body as he moves, chilled by the rush of air against his skin, as he loses himself to the familiarity movement. Padmé and Valorum respectfully leave him to his workout, though he senses at one stage during the first day they both checked on him.

Still, it doesn't distract him enough. He knows he shouldn't be thinking about it – there ought to be more important things on his mind, like the war – but he can't help it. "Whatever happened," he can hear Padmé saying softly from the adjoining chamber, "it must have been bad. Obi-Wan _and_ Bail injured?"

_You have no idea, Padmé._

_Anakin_ doesn't even know what it was. It was dark, he knows that. Evil.

_Sith_, the Force whispers, and he swallows.

Thankfully, Captain Korbel and his men keep their professional, polite distance, taking care of themselves and the ship with the efficiency they'd been bred with. Padmé visits him once during the whole trip to offer him some water. He accepts it gratefully, and is the recipient of a tight hug at the same time.

"Oh, Anakin, I know you must be worried about him," Padmé says tearfully. "We'll find him, don't you worry."

He holds her back, eyes closed. She leaves him alone again after that, and he suddenly misses her company. Or if not hers, then _someone's_. There's nothing he can really do on this ship as they travel at the lightspeed. He could meditate again, but he isn't sure he's strong enough for that. It took too much out of him the last time.

_But it was worth it._

_So, so worth it. He touches his lips absently, feeling the kiss his Force projection gave Obi-Wan. It felt real – more than that, is __was_ real, and he wonders if Obi-Wan knows that.

When at last the navicomp announces their arrival at Obi-Wan's coordinates, Korbel drops the ship out of hyperspace. The first thing Anakin feels is that same cold that tortured him in his meditation, but the whispers and pain are gone. It's almost superficial now – remnants of the evil that used to exist. In the Force he hears the dying screams of hundreds of unwary travellers and soldiers from weeks and years gone and it makes him shiver_._

"Sir?"

Anakin turns to face Korbel. "Yes, Captain?"

"Master Yoda gave us General Kenobi's and Senator Organa's biosigns. Would you like me to scan for them while you're flying?"

He nods his assent, even though it's hardly necessary. He can already feel Obi-Wan in the Force, a warm flicker of light in this dark expanse of galaxy.

It feels like home.

Korbel takes a seat and starts running various sensor sweeps – it doesn't take long to find them. "On the night side, sir," Korbel says. "There's something else with them, but other than that they're alone. Whole vaping planet's empty, pretty much."

Empty of physical things, anyway. Anakin nods again. "All right, Captain. Let's begin our descent. Can you recce the area before we set foot on the planet?"

"Of course, sir."

The first thing they all see in the floodlights of the ship – lights capable of turning night into day – is the edge of an enormous pile of rubble. Recent rubble, from the look of it. It reminds Anakin sharply, and sickeningly, of Coruscant and its bombed state. The way he found Obi-Wan's broken and twisted body on that rooftop. _A second too late, and_ –

He catches his breath. _Enough. It didn't happen like that. You found him. And you're going to find him again._

The yacht settles on the barren plateau as smoothly as it can. Padmé lets the ramp down and lets Korbel and his men disembark for the recce of the immediate vicinity. Anakin's body crawls with impatience but he tames it, obeying the captain's stricture to stay well out of side and target range until he gives the all-clear. The recce isn't necessary – Anakin can feel that – but it is procedure and it isn't just him on this vessel, there's Padmé and Valorum as well. Thankfully it doesn't take long until Korbel calls out that they're good to go.

Padmé is first to leap to the top of the ramp; at the bottom stands two figures, both in the blinding floodlights. Valorum and Anakin follow her suit, but when they emerge, Anakin is the one who cringes. This is a dead planet. The air is stale, there's no life – it makes him feel ill.

"Oh, _Bail_ – " Padmé gasps, and tears down the ramp to crush her politician friend in a hug. Organa staggers and she pulls away, apologising profusely, but he shakes his head and hugs her again, face tense with tears and relief. Valorum and Anakin descend down the ramp towards them. The Senator looks _worse_ than worse for wear; Anakin's seen him before, but Bail Organa has always been that cultured, composed type, not one who'd ever look so filthy and ragged and starved. Next to him a young woman, huddled in a cloak and hovering behind Organa.

"You look like death warmed up," Valorum greets when he arrives before Organa, but there's a smile to his tone and eyes.

Organa laughs hoarsely. "It's good to see you again as well, Finis." He holds out his hand to the woman by his side. Her hair is matted with blood and dirt; perhaps underneath it she's pretty, but right now she just looks starved and battered. "This is Bria-Lin Terran. She is a Friend."

Then Anakin notices. That robe she's wearing – it's ripped and bloodied and looks like it belongs to a dead person instead – it isn't hers. It's Obi-Wan's. She's clutching it like a lifeline, wrapping it around her fragile body.

"Where's Obi-Wan?" Anakin interrupts, not impolitely but urgently.

The smile fades from Organa's face. "Ah." He nods towards the rubble. "Over there."

_Oh no. Oh no –_

"Bail, is he –"

"I think he's all right," Organa quickly reassures Padmé.

"It might take a couple of men to get him in the yacht," Bria-Lin unexpectedly speaks up. "His injuries are catching up with him."

"It appears yours are as well," Valorum comments dryly, glancing at him and the girl. "Come, there is aid on the ship."

He courteously directs Organa and the girl – well, woman – up the ramp. Anakin turns to Korbel. "Captain, I'll need you in a moment. Hold your positions for now."

"Say the word when you're ready, sir," Korbel acknowledges, and without wasting another second Anakin strides off to where Organa gestured.

They sense each other before they see each other. Obi-Wan rises to stand from the stone he'd been sitting on and sways, and Anakin nearly freezes. If Organa had looked awful, there are no words for Obi-Wan. He looks so brittle, cuts and bruises and dirt and blood and rags… He'd known Obi-Wan was injured, but there's something so confronting in actually _seeing_ it, even with prior knowledge. Anakin nearly stops breathing at the sight, and tries not to weep.

All he wants to do is tear across the short distance and grab Obi-Wan – whether it's to shake him and yell and call him the idiot he is, or to crush him in a tight embrace, he doesn't know – but either way, he's worried he'll end up hurting him. So he walks over in complete restraint. It's grating and crushing and horrible, but Anakin's more afraid of Obi-Wan breaking than anything else.

"Master Kenobi."

"Knight Skywalker."

It sounds so serious, and maybe it is, but Obi-Wan's eyes are so very _bright_ and Anakin hardly dares to imagine what his must look like as well. "I understand you need a lift."

Obi-Wan manages a small smile, looking down. "Only if you're headed my way. I wouldn't want to be an inconvenience."

"No. No inconvenience." _Don't cry, damn it. _"There might be a small fee, though." And then he can't hold it any long. "_Obi-Wan –_"

To Sith with composure – he and Obi-Wan grab each other at the same time and Anakin holds him, feeling the sharpness of his shoulder blades under his hands and the vibrations of his own shaking body. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Obi-Wan whispers fiercely into Anakin's shoulder. "Anakin –"

"I know," he says hoarsely, clenching his eyes closed. "It's okay."

It is okay. It _is_. Obi-Wan clutches him and Anakin rests a hand at the back of his neck, holding him close. "You smell really bad, Obi-Wan," Anakin mumbles into Obi-Wan's hair. Obi-Wan chuckles, his breath tickling Anakin's neck.

"It's the scent of a man. You just don't appreciate it."

Anakin laughs in relief – _he'll be okay, he will_ – and pulls back to get a good look at his battered friend. It's a terrible sight to behold, perhaps not as bad as he thought it was, but bad enough to make him cringe. Obi-Wan looks like he's just gone through hell and back. _He has_.

Then Anakin notices his right leg. Dried blood encrusts the torn material and he's putting no weight on it at all – quite possibly because if he does, he'll collapse. "You stupid man, what have you done to your leg?" Anakin chokes out. Obi-Wan sways precariously and looks down with a dazed expression, blinking blearily. He shakes his head and sways again, eyes blurring.

"It was worth it," he whispers forcefully, and passes out in Anakin's arms.

* * *

Anakin lets Padmé and Valorum fret over Organa and Bria-Lin Terran while Korbel mans the ship. Obi-Wan had been carried into the comprehensively equipped medbay and quickly seen to by two of the medic clones. Anakin stays in the bay, refusing to leave Obi-Wan's side. His tattered clothes are taken away, revealing every single scar and new wound on his body. Most notably – most heart wrenchingly – is the gash on the very thigh that has caused him so much pain these past months.

"It's not too deep, sir," one of the clones informs him. "We'll clean it up well. He'll be recovered in no time."

The clones do their job well – Obi-Wan is cleaned up and dressed in a fresh tunic and pants, given a few injections, and transported carefully to the dorm. Anakin thanks the clones before they leave, and stays by Obi-Wan's side.

He touches his hand lightly to Obi-Wan's rough cheek after the door seals shut. "We'll be home soon," he whispers. As if in response, Obi-Wan rouses slightly, eyelids fluttering open. It takes him a minute to adjust to the light and the setting, but he finally focuses on Anakin and smiles. It takes away the extra years added to his face in a second.

"Hi," Anakin says, smiling as well. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

Obi-Wan tries to move but ends up groaning instead. "If pain is a 'welcome back', I'm not entirely sure I want to wake up."

"Pain means you're still alive."

Obi-Wan falls silent, and Anakin wonders if he's touched on a sensitive subject for him. But Obi-Wan just nods, lost in thought. Or memory. "Yes. That's… quite true."

_Oh, Obi-Wan. What have you gone through?_

Wordlessly, Anakin hands him a painkiller. Obi-Wan swallows it dry then coughs. He longs to engage in banter, but Obi-Wan looks so tired that whatever banter he tries to initiate will most likely be futile. Or maybe he's underestimating Obi-Wan – either way, the man needs rest. But before that…

"Do you want to talk about it?" Anakin asks softly, resting a hand on his arm. Obi-Wan glances down at it, then does something strange. He grasps Anakin's hand and turns it over, looking at it with a relieved expression. "Obi-Wan?"

"I – " He breaks off. He should talk about it. Anakin _knows_ he needs to. But he shakes his head anyway. _Stubborn man._ "Not yet, if that's all right."

Perhaps he needs to come to terms with it on his own first. Or he's being stubbornly selfless and doesn't want to 'burden' Anakin. Or something. He lets Obi-Wan examine his arm, watching him warily for signs of instability, but before he can get too worried Obi-Wan sighs and lets go, smiling tiredly.

"Anakin… before all this, when I was in the infirmary, I – I'm sorry for the way I acted, I –"

"Hey," Anakin stops him. "Don't worry about. I know you didn't mean it. You were scared."

"I most certainly was not scared, Anakin Skywalker," Obi-Wan lies.

Anakin, of course, sees right through it and grins. "If you say so, Master Kenobi." Without waiting for a response, he kicks off his boots and slips into the covers beside Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan protests but it's in that exasperated but affectionate tone, the one Anakin feared he'd never hear again. Anakin pulls the covers over both of them, making sure Obi-Wan is well tucked in, and falls asleep with an arm draped over Obi-Wan's body.

* * *

Obi-Wan doesn't fall asleep straight away. He's not entirely sure he can – even though he's exhausted and battered, his mind is too active to settle. Anakin is snoring softly next to him, one arm still wrapped around his body. Obi-Wan smiles when a few strands of hair fall into his eyes.

"What would I do without you, my friend?" he whispers. The Anakin he saw – he kissed – in that Sith temple… he wasn't real. Another hallucination. But the best one he's had. He flushes. _Shouldn't be having those kinds of thoughts, Kenobi…_

At least he's free of the crushing guilt now. Perhaps these feelings will pass and perhaps they won't – either way, it doesn't matter. _I love him,_ Obi-Wan realises. _I shouldn't, but I do._ It's with a heavy sigh and rush of sadness that he brushes a strand of hair from Anakin's forehead in a tender motion. _Oh, Anakin. However did it come to this?_

Even though it wasn't _really_ Anakin in that temple, the one who saved him from the darkness, the one who – who kissed him, it was still Anakin. Anakin saved him. Anakin will _always_ save him. Obi-Wan holds back tears and watches Anakin's peaceful face, and silently thanks him.

* * *

Sneak peek for Chapter Twenty-Eight ("Need, Part Three"):

_ "How can I tell you?" Obi-Wan whispers, blue-green eyes shining with agony. "Anakin –"_

_And in that moment, he truly understands Obi-Wan's fear – because it's his own, staring right back at him. "Whatever it is, I won't hate you," he promises softly, and Obi-Wan draws in a quick sharp breath, telling him he was right. "Is that what you're afraid of? That I'd hate you for whatever it is you're hiding from me?"_


	34. Need, Part Three

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

Usual ritual, guys – sorry for the wait, Darth Real Life in the way, blah blah blah (uninteresting stuff you don't want to read about…) But hey, look, new chapter! It's a really, really small one – but I think you'll like it anyway. *wink* Thank you to every single person who reviewed! I'm sorry I haven't been able to reply, but I'm short on time and my internet connection is acting up… I figured you'd prefer to have a new chapter than a review-reply. But please know I deeply appreciate you all taking the time to review and I couldn't have done this chapter without your encouragement!

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Twenty-Eight –  
Need

(part three)

The chance to really talk with Obi-Wan doesn't happen until they're back on Kamino.

He spends most of the trip in a deep, drug-induced but restless sleep – a vivid nightmare prompted the Clones to tranquilise him, in case he lashed out during his sleep and tore open his wounds again.

Through the Force Anakin can feel the taints of darkness clinging to Obi-Wan's light. It's not his darkness – never _his_ darkness – but the remnants of that horrid place, struggling to pollute Obi-Wan and feed on him. Anakin stays by his side and submerses himself in the Force. It's not quite meditation, but enough to soothe Obi-Wan and burn the darkness away.

Padmé and Valorum keep their distance, instead putting their energy into treating Bria-Lin Terran. Padmé visits him four times, all to bring him food he'd otherwise forget to eat, and holding him close and reassuring him Obi-Wan will be fine.

Obi-Wan wakes up again few hours before arrival at Kamino. He's confused – stripped of perception, he mutters something about Bothawui, and Anakin has to calm him and tell him that was weeks ago, it's all right. Obi-Wan focuses on him with bleary eyes, connecting with reality. It's hard to find it through the sedatives the Clones gave him, but to his credit he tries.

"Oh," he says vaguely, but not slurring – an astonishing feat, considering how many drugs he's been given. "Hello, Anakin. Have I hurt myself again?"

Anakin laughs. "Yeah, you sure did. Do you remember what happened?"

Obi-Wan struggles to sit up, but Anakin pushes him back down gently and Obi-Wan doesn't fight back. Had he not been under the influence of sedatives, Anakin doubts Obi-Wan would have given up so easily. "A little," Obi-Wan says, still blinking. "There was a temple. It was… cold. Dark. Dooku –" His eyes suddenly widen and this time he bolts up in a panic before Anakin can push him down again. "Dooku – he hurt you, he cut off your arm –"

"What?"

Obi-Wan chokes a little and looks like he's about to sob. "Anakin, I'm sorry, I'm sorry –"

Anakin holds up his hands. "No, look, he didn't do anything to me, it's okay, you were dreaming –"

"– my fault –"

"Shh," Anakin tells him, touching his arms to calm him. "It's okay. It's over. I'm fine, I promise. Look, see? No-one cut off anything. I _promise._ And you're safe as well."

Almost immediately, the emotions are swept aside, replaced by warmth and peacefulness. Obi-Wan's eyes focus on his finally, clearing as he nods drowsily. Anakin pushes him back down, adjusting the covers over him. "I know," Obi-Wan mumbles, reaching out until his hand awkwardly collides with Anakin's shoulder. His eyes close slowly. "You're here. I'm always safe when you're here…"

It's so rare to see Obi-Wan in his most unguarded moments. Anakin watches at he slips back into unconsciousness, holding his hand, and wonders why his vision has gone blurry until he feels his cheeks are wet with tears.

* * *

Obi-Wan wakes up again when they reach Kamino – lucid, if a bit confused, and doesn't seem to remember their small conversation at all. He doesn't bring anything else up, either – and certainly not their kiss.

Okay, so, Anakin wouldn't exactly bring it up surrounded by various Senators and Clones and random young women either, but there's not even a _hint_ anything happened. When they make their way down the loading ramp, Obi-Was is totally lucid, and… acting the way he always does. He's weary and exhausted, but wry and polite.

Obi-Wan Kenobi should not be acting normally. It's not that Anakin doesn't want him to act normally, it's just that he knows Obi-Wan should be wracked with guilt and angst or something, maybe softly declaring while failing to meet Anakin's eyes that _he thinks they need to talk_.

But there's none of that. It's like nothing has changed at all. Either he's forgotten it, or he's pretending it didn't happen.

_Maybe he's ashamed._

Anakin doesn't have time to dwell on this – a woman stands at the bottom of the ramp. She has an athlete's physique, clothed in a grey bodysuit. She's tall and imposing, and to the stranger looks completely composed. Through the Force Anakin can sense she's tenuous, restraining herself and her emotions.

Obi-Wan seems to recognise her – "Alinta Terran," he murmurs softly, "Commander of the Friends of the Republic."

Organa and the girl Bria-Lin recognise her as well, but it's Bria-Lin who speaks. "Mum?" she whispers.

Alinta Terran's control breaks. "Oh, Bria, Bria –"

"Mum," Bria-Lin chokes, and she falls into her mother's arms, her façade of strength shattering. Alinta holds her daughter, looking nothing like a Commander of the Friends of the Republic. She looks like a mother, reunited with her daughter, and the pain and love in her eyes is nearly enough to cripple Anakin with tears.

_I miss you so much, mum_.

It creeps up on him when he least expects it to. His throat tightens, remember his own mother's voice and the way she used to hug him when he was young.

"I thought I'd lost you," Alinta whispers fiercely into her daughter's hair, not caring who's watching. Bria-Lin just sobs and clings to Alinta tightly.

Just when he feels tears burning in his eyes, he feels Obi-Wan's presence along the bond – alive and warm again – touch him gently, soothing him. He takes a shuddering breath and forces himself to quietly leave Alinta and Bria-Lin.

* * *

"Master Kenobi. I apologise for interrupting your recovery, but there is something I must discuss with you."

If there's one thing that can be said about Alinta Terran, it is that she is one of the most impressively brusque people Obi-Wan has ever met. It is a good thing Anakin has left his side to check up on Padmé – as protective as Anakin is being of him, he doubts Alinta would have made it through the door.

"This can't wait," she says by way of an explanation. "I'm leaving shortly with Bria."

Obi-Wan bows his head. "How is Bria?"

Alinta smiles, but it is a sad one. "She… will recover. It will be slow."

"She has been through a lot."

A tremor runs through the Commander, letting the mother shine through. "She has, yes."

He hears what she doesn't say: _I left her for dead._

Obi-Wan suspects it will be guilt she'll carry with her for a long time, but before he can tell her something reassuring, the mother disappears and Commander Terran returns. She holds out a small holoimage and a datapad. For a moment, Obi-Wan almost blanches – the image is of a man, and at a first glance it looks so much like him he thinks he's seeing himself. Rationality trickles in quickly – it can't be him because he's never owned or worn that uniform. The man doesn't have a beard. His face is slightly different, but there's enough of a resemblance…

_You look like him._

_Like who?_

_Like Owen. You…you have his eyes._

"His name was Owen Kenobi," Alinta tells him when he doesn't speak. "He was a member of Echo Rescue Unit – Echo Four, one of our finest."

Owen Kenobi. "Bria mentioned him," he says softly.

"You're in his Will."

He's not nearly surprised as he wishes he could be, but it's still like a punch to the gut, because this is defining _proof_ that Owen Kenobi is – _was_ – his biological brother.

"It is compulsory for all of our members to write one up when they join. This is Owen's. He wanted it passed along to his closest blood or lawful relative. His father passed away a few years ago and he stated he did not wish his half-sister or extended family to read it."

Half-sister. Another relative, then. He vaguely wonders just how many more family members he has and will probably never meet. Obi-Wan takes the datapad silently, uncertain as to what he's supposed to be feeling. Grief is the logical emotion, finally faced with the knowledge that it is his _brother_ who died.

_Brother._

Not like Anakin, or another Jedi. This was someone he shared a genetic bond with, the same blood. He… he _wants_ to cry, if only because it'll prove to himself he's human enough to feel the loss of a brother.

Alinta moves her head to one side when Obi-Wan doesn't say anything. "He always denied he was your brother, you know. I thought at first he was ashamed for some reason, but –"

"No," Obi-Wan says softly, even though he knows, logically, he shouldn't have any idea at all. "He… he was protecting me."

That makes sense. Owen Kenobi of the Friends of the Republic – it would have been easy for anyone to track down the genetic link and take him hostage. The brother of the Negotiator – he would have made a prize for enemies indeed. Better, then, that he tells people there is no relationship at all, it's a coincidence, so neither of them can be used against each other.

She nods, looking solemn. "He was an honourable man."

"How did he die?"

"Two months ago during a mission. He was transporting refugees to Alderaan when pirates attacked his ship. He didn't make it off. I'm sorry."

She touches his shoulder and makes a move to leave. Then she stops, turns back, and grasps his hand.

"Master Kenobi," she says, sounding like Alinta – not like Commander Terran. "I… cannot thank you enough for what you've done. The hyperlane can be used now, thanks to you, and…" Her voice breaks a little here. "And you saved Bria. If there is anything the Friends of the Republic or I can ever do for you, do not hesitate to contact me. I am in your everlasting debt."

She leaves him after this. It's only after she's long gone that Obi-Wan reads his brother's Will with shaking hands. First Anakin, now this… he's not sure he's strong enough to handle it all, not right now, not after that horrid place and everything it showed him. _Zigoola_, his dark self called it, and he shudders, clutching the holoimage and Will tightly for an anchor. It takes him a long moment to realise that he can't make sense of the words on the Will because his vision is blurred with tears.

* * *

When Anakin finally visits Obi-Wan, he's greeted by a sight that almost breaks his heart.

He's seen Obi-Wan crying before – _really_ crying – once, that horrible night nearly a year ago, when Anakin tried to strike him. Right before they retreated to Dantooine. But he's doing it again now – a calm face, no hitching breaths or jerking shoulders, no melodrama. Just one tear after another slipping free from closed lashes, silently making their way down his face.

He's holding a holorecording. It's of a man, but Anakin can't make out features from where he's standing. So he moves closer and sits beside Obi-Wan, watching the small holorecording, and touches his arm. "Who was he?" Anakin asks quietly.

Obi-Wan sighs shakily and wipes his face dry of the tears, looking sadly at the holoimage. His eyes are still red-rimmed. "Owen Kenobi," Obi-Wan says. "He was… he was my biological brother. He passed away two months ago, in the service of the Friends."

He says it stoically, but Anakin can feel the tremors running through the Force. He rests a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Obi-Wan shakes his head. "I didn't know him," he says hoarsely, blinking rapidly. "I didn't even know I _had_ a brother until…"

"Doesn't matter," Anakin says. "He was your brother. I… I know what it's like, you know. When my mother died, it was like… part of _me_ died."

"It's different," Obi-Wan murmurs. "You knew her and loved her. It must have been so painful for you, Anakin. I'm so sorry, I…" He breaks off and bows his head. "I didn't know him. I was three when I was taken by the Jedi, I – I should have a memory of him but I _don't_."

Anakin suspects that Obi-Wan does – he just isn't in the right frame of mind to recall it now or is too battered by the past weeks to realise it. He turns off the holoimage and tugs it gently out of Obi-Wan's hand. Obi-Wan doesn't hold on to it or lunge after it, so Anakin lets it sit on the small table beside the bed.

Silence stretches out between them, until Anakin shatters it. "What happened?" he asks softly.

Obi-Wan takes a shuddering breath, closes his eyes, and begins to tell him.

It is a story that grips Anakin. First with fear, but mostly anger at Terran for sending Obi-Wan into a death trap. And Yoda, for _letting_ him do it.

_That evil little troll, one of these days I swear…_

He tells him how he found Bria-Lin. Obi-Wan never outright says what he thinks happened to Bria-Lin, but the implication is enough. Their tedious journey to reach the temple, the hallucinations, the storm. Halfway through he stands up and paces, well, limps, around the room, unable to sit still any longer. Anakin follows beside him until Obi-Wan rests against a wall, supporting his weight on it. Finally the temple. Obi-Wan tells him about the dark apparition of himself he saw. The things it said to him – things Anakin already knows, but he doesn't interrupt and instead lets Obi-Wan finish.

Again, Obi-Wan mentions nothing about Anakin appearing to him in the temple. Absolutely nothing. He doesn't hide in shame or stutter over it.

Which is how Anakin knows now without a doubt that he hasn't brought it up because he's ashamed. It's possible he has no memory of it, but he remembers everything else so it doesn't seem likely he wouldn't remember something like _that_.

So perhaps it is for the simple reason that he thinks it wasn't real. He doesn't know it really was Anakin. And there's just one last piece of the puzzle that's missing now.

"So," Anakin says, long after Obi-Wan has finished. "Now are you going tell me what's been bothering you?"

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. "I was under the impression I just did."

"Nice try, Master Kenobi. I can see right through that, you know. There's something else."

"Anakin…"

"Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan presses his lips together tightly, glaring slightly, because he knows Anakin is right.

He's close now – so close. _I can get him to talk, I _will_ get him to talk, whether he damn well wants to or not because he kriffing well needs to._ "Okay, look. Just…"

He faces Obi-Wan again and moves closer, backing him against the wall so Obi-Wan can't run and hide.

"Anakin –"

"No, be quiet and listen to me. You are the most frustrating man I've ever met." _Can't you see what you're doing to yourself? Talk to me, damn it. _He cups Obi-Wan's jaw, and their foreheads meet, puffs of warm breath brushing against his lips. Obi-Wan shivers under his touch. "Don't do this," Anakin whispers fiercely, pleadingly. "I won't understand if you don't talk to me. Don't shut me out. Don't do what I would have done. Please, Obi-Wan."

"How can I tell you?" Obi-Wan whispers, blue-green eyes shining with agony. "Anakin –"

And in that moment, he truly understands Obi-Wan's fear – because it's his own, staring right back at him. "Whatever it is, I won't hate you," he promises softly, and Obi-Wan draws in a quick sharp breath, telling him he was right. "Is that what you're afraid of? That I'd hate you for whatever it is you're hiding from me? Is that why you said all those things to me before I left to Bothawui, so that I would back off and you'd never _have_ to tell me anything?" Anakin shakes his head, not sure whether to be amused or astounded. "You complete idiot, Obi-Wan Kenobi. It didn't work, and it won't _ever_ work. Don't you –" he chokes a little on the words. "I trust you. I trusted you all those months ago when you told me nothing I ever did would make you hate me, and on Dantooine when you told me that you loved me – well now I want you to trust me."

Obi-Wan tenses and tries to pull away, looking uncomfortable. "Anakin… I do trust you. I do. But I have failed you. I have betrayed your trust in me, as both a friend and a former teacher."

"What are you talking about?"

"When – when I said… before you left for Bothawui… that I care for you far more than I should…I wasn't lying." It seemed to take all of his effort to admit to that.

"I know that. What's the point to this?"

"My _point_ – blast it, Anakin, are you really going to make me say it? I was disgusted with myself enough as it was and you're not –"

"This conversation is going around in circles," Anakin interrupts, forcing Obi-Wan into silence. "Why are you so uncomfortable when I stand this close? You aren't disgusted with me. You said you were disgusted with yourself. And it isn't because you care about me. I don't give a damn what the Code says – caring isn't something to hide from, and the sooner you start to believe that the better. But we can talk about that later, because it isn't that. This is something about… the _way_ you care about me." Realisation trickles in, and he can almost hear the erratic pounding of Obi-Wan's heart. "You're… feeling something you think is overstepping boundaries." He raises an eyebrow. "Something 'inappropriate'."

When Obi-Wan flinches, he knows he's right again, and it grips his own heart. Heat radiates off Obi-Wan's body and Anakin leans in closer, aching to get closer because he wants _more_, more warmth, more explanations, more _Obi-Wan_.

_And I know I shouldn't._

But… he hardly dares to believe it. _Obi-Wan wants him back._

He swallows shakily. "Look at me. Please."

It seems to take an age, but eventually Obi-Wan meets his gaze. Anakin knows Obi-Wan responded truthfully in that temple when they kissed. The desperation, the need behind it, no hesitation – it was true. A smile brushes his mouth, and he says, "You kissed back."

Obi-Wan starts. "What?"

"On that planet," Anakin says, this time with more strength. Pulsing excitement. "In the temple. You kissed me back."

There's a short, tense silence before Obi-Wan, eyes wide, blurts out, "It – it was _you_ –? I thought it was – I thought I was hallucinating, I – it _was_ you –"

If there's anything left in the sentence, it's lost when Anakin swiftly closes the space between them and presses his lips to Obi-Wan's. There's a muffled sound of surprise when their mouths meet. Nothing happens at first, both slightly stunned, but then Obi-Wan responds, coming alive in Anakin's embrace, and parts his lips, wrapping his arms around Anakin's shoulders. Their lips move desperately together and Anakin loses himself in the sensation of the kiss, the sensual scratch of Obi-Wan's beard against his skin and the twining of their tongues, and holds him tightly, breathless.

_Want you, need you…_

In this suspended second – this one moment – it's perfect.


	35. Almost

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

Oh. Hi there. So, um. I'm really embarrassed about the time it's taken to write and update this story. I am actually still alive (crazy, I know, right?) and I have a new chapter to offer you all! It's small, but I figured… hey, I needed to give you guys something. Thanks for sticking with me, everyone – you're wonderful for putting up with my sporadic updates. Thank you so much to the people who reviewed the last chapter – I can't begin to tell you how much your support means to me. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Twenty-Nine –  
Almost

Obi-Wan isn't sure how long they stand there for, and he stops caring between Anakin's hand fisting in his hair and him slipping his tongue into Anakin's mouth.

_What am I doing?_

_Well_, the remaining functioning part of his brain comments helpfully, _you're kissing Anakin._

Anakin groans against his lips, pulling away ever so slightly to catch his breath. Obi-Wan's eyes open and he stares at Anakin's face, dazed. Anakin's eyes are wide, pupils large, and his face is flushed and his lips are a little swollen. "You're thinking too much," he murmurs, a low rumble against Obi-Wan's lips.

"Oh," Obi-Wan says coherently. Anakin's thumb is making small movements on his cheek and his palm is cupping his jaw, all in all being rather distracting. He feels his eyes close again and he leans into Anakin's hold.

"Obi-Wan," Anakin mutters before shifting and kissing his ear. Obi-Wan inhales sharply, biting back a groan. "Force." He's shaking now, head falling back. Anakin lays his hand on his chest and skates it up to cup his neck this time, tilting Obi-Wan's head to the side and kissing down the exposed line from ear to collar. "You… you're going to have to stop me, Obi-Wan."

_Not yet_, Obi-Wan thinks dazedly, the breathless rumble of Anakin's voice doing illegal things to his body.

But Anakin's right. He does have to stop this.

Unwillingly, and fighting the sudden panic that's leapt on him like a hungry kath hound, he pushes Anakin away from him very slowly. Anakin doesn't fight him at all.

"Anakin…" he starts to say, not sounding hoarse or breathless at all, when his comm. link beeps.

_Oh. That isn't cliche at all_, he thinks intelligently, because that's all his mind is capable of putting together right now. Startled, he looks around for it as if on autopilot. It's on his bedside table, blinking innocently, and he tries to make a move for it, forgetting that, no, he _isn't_ fully recovered yet and can't move much without hurting. The throb of dull pain hinders him and Anakin grabs it first before Obi-Wan can really do anything.

"Skywalker," Anakin answers, and Obi-Wan is still a bit too stunned to interrupt.

Mace's voice emerges from the comm. link. _"Skywalker, I was under the impression I'd called Obi-Wan's comm. link."_

"Obi-Wan is recovering," Anakin says, eyes now locked with Obi-Wan's. "He can't take the call right now."

"_Is he well enough to speak to Master Yoda?"_

"Not yet, no."

"Hold on," Obi-Wan finally says, snapping back to reality, but Anakin covers his mouth with a hand firmly, eyes never leaving his face.

"_Skywalker, I heard him."_

"He was talking in his sleep. When he wakes up I'll let him know you called for him."

"_Knight Skywalker, if I find out you're lying –"_

Anakin hangs up on him and flicks the comm. link off so it can't receive any more calls, then tosses it on the bedside table.

Obi-Wan blinks at him, and Anakin finally lowers his hand. "Did you just hang up on Master Windu?"

Anakin shrugs. "It turns him on."

"I don't think that was an image I needed."

"Heh."

There's a pause. It isn't an awkward one, it's a patient one, and Obi-Wan quickly figures out what it is: Anakin is waiting for _him_.

_Focus._

"We, um –" He sounds choked. Clearing his throat, Obi-Wan tries again, trying not to think about Anakin's lips on his again. "I think… we should probably talk."

Anakin tilts his head to one side, looking, of all things, relaxed. "Yes, we could do that. And if you want to, we will."

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow and gestures a little helplessly between them. "You don't think we should?"

Anakin shrugs, this time looking a little bashful. "No, I mean, of course we should. But I know you, Obi-Wan. You're going to try and analyse every single little detail. It'll take a while. And I don't think talking now is a good idea. You're still recovering and should probably get some more rest."

"Yes, there is that," Obi-Wan mutters, barely restraining the urge to ask _And since when did you become the responsible, rational one in our relationship?_

The Knight lowers his gaze. "You should rest. Do you want me to leave?"

"No," Obi-Wan says before he can stop himself. He knows it's just one more temptation, one more thing he shouldn't be wanting because he's a Jedi, but he doesn't want to be alone right now, and Anakin is the only person he wants by his side. "I – I mean. No, please. Stay?"

Anakin obliges.

* * *

Anakin is still sleeping when Obi-Wan slips out. It's early morning and his body protests from the strain, but it's better than yesterday. He limps out, picking up his comm. link on the way, and contacts Master Yoda when he's outside the quarters. He's left to wander the sterile corridors of Kamino, passing clones and Kaminoans along the way. Maybe he shouldn't be walking, but the movement is good for his muscles and, really, he does need time to think.

_"Master Kenobi,"_ Yoda greets when the call is finally connected. Obi-Wan sits down in his small reclusive area, and bows his head to Yoda's holoimage.

"Master Yoda," he replies. "Anakin tells me Master Windu contacted me yesterday."

"_Mmm, yes, he did. On my request, it was. Occupied, I was."_

"I apologise for not answering."

_"Hmph! Apologise for recovering, only you would, Master Kenobi."_

Obi-Wan flushes.

"_Thin, you look."_

"It's nothing a few of Dex's meals won't solve," Obi-Wan jokes weakly.

_"Feed you soon, he should. To Coruscant, you will return."_ Yoda tilts his head to one side, looking contemplative. "_Eager, the Council is, Obi-Wan, to hear of what happened along Salvation Run."_

His heart thuds. This, he realises, is perhaps what he's most dreading of today. "Zigoola," he hears himself whisper.

"_Zigoola?"_

Obi-Wan clears his throat. He's not ready for this, but he's already told Anakin and it relieved a lot of bad emotion behind it. He can tell it again. Most of it, at any rate. "I was… confronted by some very shocking things, Master Yoda," he says softly. "Some of those things I don't yet feel I can share. But I will try to run it down as completely as I can."

Yoda says nothing, the silence not putting any pressure on him. Obi-Wan closes his eyes for a long moment, then talks.

He doesn't really hear himself – he just lets the words, the story, come out. The four Friends of the Republic teams, the last one, Echo Rescue Unit. Being greeted by Alinta Terran at the Roche Asteroid base.

Bail Organa and the clones. The dreams, the nebula that wasn't a nebula, but rather a physical manifestation of the dark side. Seductive and beckoning, how it drew them all in. How the clones went missing one by one and the energy that destroyed their hyperdrive, stranding them in the middle of the run. The temperature controls being changed, his hallucinations… the fog of dark side that obscured the presence of a planet along the run.

The clones. Force, the clones – _mass suicide_, he'd called it. The ship being caught in the gravitational pull of the planet, and Obi-Wan taking what the darkness offered to save their lives.

The visions. The dreams. He hadn't known what was real and what was not. Bria-Lin and Bail as towers of strength (_thoughts of Anakin, keeping him from slipping_).

_I wanted to give up._

And the temple.

He feels ill just thinking about it.

_Love me. Embrace me. Die, Jidai._

He finishes the story, trying not to think about it even as he details it. He leaves out the last parts with Anakin in them. Yoda doesn't need to know about that. "There is more, of a somewhat personal nature," Obi-Wan says when he's finished, "but…"

"_Understand, I do,"_ Yoda's holoimage says_. "But dwell on this experience, you should not. Survive it, you did. Learn much, you did."_

He learned a lot. Quite possibly more than he wanted to, and not nearly as much as he should have.

A few more pleasantries are exchanged; general talk, about the progress of a certain group of Younglings, the recovery effort on Coruscant. It feels good to talk about non-Force related things, and nice to hear about something positive for a change.

_"Before you go, young Skywalker, I would like to discuss with you."_ At Obi-Wan's nod, Yoda continues. _"Yet to master his emotions, he has. Very attached to you, he is, Obi-Wan."_

"Yes," Obi-Wan agrees. "But I think he does know how to handle it now. He's a different person to who he was a year ago. He's grown. He sees the galaxy in a very different way to you and me. He's very like Qui-Gon in that respect. He feels first, thinks later… and if I'm honest, I'm all right with that. I'm not his teacher anymore. He's my equal. He does what works for him." Obi-Wan allows himself a smile. "We complement each other, I think."

He said it more to himself than to Yoda, but Yoda nods in agreement. "_Mmm. A good team you make."_

Impulsively, Obi-Wan wets his lips and says, "I'd very much like to remain teamed with him, Master Yoda."

"_Approve of this, I do." _

Obi-Wan smiles. "Thank you, Master Yoda."

_"Now, rest, you must! My soup, you would like me to make for you, when to Coruscant you return?"_

Obi-Wan manages _not_ to blanch in horror. "Oh, er, no, that's quite all right, Master Yoda, I think the Kaminoan broth will suffice. But thank you for the offer."

"_Hmph. No-one ever eats my soup. Why is this, I wonder?"_

* * *

Long after his talk with Yoda is over, Obi-Wan remains where he is, sitting and in a state of semi-meditation.

It feels… _wonderful_, to feel the Force again like this. For it to not be tainted by seductive poison or hate-filled whisperings of _die Jedi_. It's calm, like a lake, and soothes him to the core.

He vaguely wonders why Anakin hasn't found him yet because he's been gone for hours, but senses through the Force that Anakin is waiting for him, patiently, in his (their?) quarters. Giving him time and space, to think.

_Oh, Anakin. Thank you._

Thinking. _Yes, what a good idea._

So he thinks, for a very long time, immersing himself in the Force and in his own tumultuous emotions and thoughts, until he hears the measured footsteps of someone approaching. He draws out of the state slowly, opening his eyes in time to greet Bria-Lin Terran.

"Obi-Wan."

After sitting down for so long, he's not sure he can stand back up. He bows his head instead. "Miss Terran."

She looks… not healthy, not yet, but infinitely _better_. There are bruises all over her, but she's clean, has had her wounds tended to, and has probably eaten a decent meal for the first time in Force knows how long. It's startling to see her blonde hair not matted with blood, and her in actual clothes rather than his shredded robe wrapped around her thin body.

Bria-Lin smiles at him. "You've seen me in my underwear. I think it's okay for you to call me Bria." At his gesture, she sits down beside him. "How's your leg?"

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow at it. "Oh. Well. It's a leg."

She snorts. "No, really."

He gives her a grin. It amazes him how he's able to relax in her presence. He supposes sharing a near-death experience with someone would do that. "It will recover, in due time. As will I."

She nods, and this time doesn't meet his gaze. He rests his hand on hers. "You're going to be all right, Bria," he says earnestly. "You're one of the strongest people I've ever met."

"Aside from my minor emotional breakdown upon arrival," she says through a watery smile.

The part where she'd fallen into her mother's arms and wept? Hardly an emotional breakdown. It had been one of the most beautiful, hopeful things Obi-Wan had ever seen. Even in this war, in this dark time and age, hope and love exists. That, he thinks, is what makes the fighting worth it. He smiles gently. "We're all allowed to give in once in a while."

"Thank you, Obi-Wan." She tucks a strand of her hair behind an ear. "You're gonna be all right as well. So's Bail."

"Oh?"

"I spoke with him earlier. He's recovering."

"That's very good to hear. I ought to see him myself sometime soon."

There are things he wants to ask her. _What happened to Echo Rescue Unit?_ is one of them. _What was my brother like?_ is another. But there's a proper time and place for those questions, and it isn't now. She glances at her wrist chrono and grimaces.

"I should head off. I'm returning to the Roche Base with the Commander soon."

"Of course, Bria."

"Hey," she says as she stands up. "I'll be around. I'm the new Echo Leader and I… I kind of need a new team." She hides a slight tremble behind her strength. "Gerald wouldn't have wanted me to give up ERU. I was his second in command, and despite what… what the dark side made him do, despite what it did to my team –" she chokes a bit. "– they were still _my team_. And I'm gonna do them proud."

"I have no doubt."

She hugs herself, looking torn. "If you weren't a Jedi and Bail wasn't a politician, you two would be the first people I'd ask."

He ducks his head. "I'm honoured, but… I don't think I could ever be Owen."

She shakes her head. "No, probably not. But that's not why I wanted to ask you. It's because you're you. You're a good man, Obi-Wan Kenobi. A strong warrior, brave, reckless –"

_Him_, reckless? Clearly she hasn't met Anakin properly yet –

"– and someone I know I could work with. But I guess the Jedi Order still sort of needs you." She smirks unexpectedly. "'Course, if you ever get tired of being a Jedi, you know where to find me."

"And you know where to find me," he returns, making her grin. "Good luck, Echo Leader."

"You too, General." She winks at him. "If you ever need a hand, give me a buzz. Echo Rescue Unit 2.0 will be around."

* * *

"Okay. So. Talking."

Of course Anakin would have to start like that. He even locked the door as soon as Obi-Wan came through it so that Obi-Wan can't make a run for it. Not that Obi-Wan can do much running at the moment, but the point is valid.

He exhales slowly and strokes his beard, deliberately staring into a corner instead of Anakin's face. "I don't know where to start."

"Don't tell me the Negotiator is at a loss for words!"

Obi-Wan hides a smile and shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck. _Well, you have to start somewhere. _"It started… I don't even know when." He belatedly realises he didn't say what 'it' was, but the bond between them warms, letting Obi-Wan know that Anakin already knows. He wets his lips and lets the warmth calm him. "A few months, I know that, but I only realised it very recently."

"Right before the Coruscant bombing."

"Yes," he admits, then swallows. "And… you?"

Anakin shrugs. "Dunno. I never really gave it much thought. It just felt like the right thing."

_Feel, don't think._

Well. Why can't things ever be that easy for _him?_

"Obi-Wan –"

"Anakin," he interrupts gently, and Anakin falls silent. "Please, let me talk for a moment first. You need to know some things – very important things. I know, logically, that our relationship now is hardly any different from what it was a few months ago, barring… well… recent developments. There is still the very real issue of non-attachment to consider." He pauses. "We aren't very good at it."

Anakin stifles a snort, and Obi-Wan concedes a small smile. Then he sighs and lets his shoulders slump forwards.

"If I'm being completely honest with you, it… It isn't that I don't think we couldn't handle it. It's possible I'm a little wary –"

"Afraid," Anakin corrects.

"– _wary_ of this," Obi-Wan continues with a half-hearted glare. "I gave up love a long time ago to dedicate my life to the Order. It isn't that I don't _want_ this." Because Force help him, he _does_. And knowing Anakin wants to as well… "It's that I _can't_."

"Because of attachments," Anakin begins to growl, but Obi-Wan shakes his head.

"Because of my chastity vow." And that shuts Anakin up straight away. Obi-Wan watches him blanch a bit, startled, then sees his expression transform from shock to annoyance to what is possibly a 'I-can't-believe-I-forgot-about-that' look. "I can't give you what you want."

This time when Anakin blanches in shock, it's more defensive than startled. "Obi-Wan, I don't want this for _sex_," he exclaims, sounding a bit hurt. "I lo–"

"I know," Obi-Wan soothes softly, pressing a finger to Anakin's lips, even as he warms at the words. Anakin falls silent, face open and expressive. Obi-Wan pulls his hand away slowly. "I know. I'm thinking in the long term. A romantic relationship will inevitably involve sex, sooner or later. And I can't offer that. Which is why I am not going to torment you with something that will not be available to you. I'd like to think I'm not that cruel a person."

Anakin breathes loudly and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "Force."

_My thoughts exactly._

"We still going to be separated?"

"I would be the smart thing to do," Obi-Wan admits, and Anakin's face begins to fall. He's so expressive, always letting every emotion show… "However," he adds, "I have recently sustained a lot of injuries. I have not been thinking very coherently recently, and in a fit of temporary insanity I may have asked Master Yoda to keep the Team together."

This time, an expression close to glee floods his features, a second before it is replaced by something more defeated. "Does that mean we're just going to pretend this doesn't exist?" he asks softly.

Obi-Wan shakes his head. "No. I've tried lying to myself. It doesn't work anymore. It just means… we can't do anything. It's there, but it has to _stay_ there, and not be part of our relationship. We can't let it rule us or our actions, we can't let it get in the way of our duty. We're Jedi." No, well, kissing. Obi-Wan feels his face heat at the memory of Anakin's lips against his, the brush of their tongues. _Stop it. Those thoughts are unproductive._ But other thoughts filter in to replace that one. Does it mean no hugs as well? No more sharing a bunk? He exhales loudly and shakes his head, not really wanting to think about it now. "We'll sort out the semantics later. But whatever happens, Anakin, you're still the best friend I've ever had. Maybe things are a bit different now, but –"

Anakin grabs his hand tightly, blue eyes burning. "Nothing's changed, Obi-Wan," he says hoarsely. "We're the Team."

"Yes," Obi-Wan agrees, squeezing his hand back. They share a smile. It's a little uncertain, wistful and regretful, but honest, and it's _theirs_. "Yes, we are."


	36. One Night Only

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

Oh, hello. Does anyone remember me? No? That's okay, it's been a while. I am _so sorry_ for the long wait between chapters! I'm still holding down two jobs, so the Christmas period was awful, and then I started writing for _Harry Potter_ again and I fell temporarily out of love with _Star Wars_… but now I'm back after a much-needed break! And I hope you'll enjoy this chapter. I'm not very satisfied with it, unfortunately, but maybe you guys will like it better than I do, especially since it's time for me to justify that **M** rating, if you know what I mean! If things seem a little fast, it's only because I've cut out three battles I was going to put in between this chapter and the last. In the end, none of them seemed necessary to me, so here we are.

Thank you to each and every single person who took the time to review the last chapter! I can't tell you how much it means to me. I couldn't have done this without you! (And just to set the record straight: I am female, not male!) I haven't been able to reply to your beautiful reviews yet, but you might expect that to happen soonish, granted I have the time. I figured you'd all prefer a new chapter to a review-reply, anyway…

One more thing: I have irredeemably destroyed the Clone Wars timeline. Oops?

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Thirty –  
One Night Only

Life, as they say, goes on.

Anakin splutters and squints through the rain and crossly thinks, _stupid saying._

'Life' has been going on for more than two years now, if spending your time on the front lines killing and watching thousands die each day can be considered as 'life'. At the moment, 'life' is being spent on Jabiim. Twenty-one days feels like twenty-one years, all sense of time distorted by the relentless rain and the never-ending fighting.

Jabiim is a miserable planet on the cusp of the Outer Rim, deluged by torrential rains. Word is that it experiences less than five days per standard year _without_ rain, and because of the constant downpour its muddy surface shifts all the time. Maps are useless in all manners: the surface is in a state of permanent flux, the world itself has very unstable electric fields so electrical storms are common and prevent the use of a holoimage map, and because of the rain the idea of a flimsiplast map is laughable.

Not for lack of trying, though. Sure, all Anakin ended up with was a clump of soggy paper and a lot of Clones laughing at him, but he'd thought it was worth a try.

In between electrical storms, electronic devices can be used more or less without hassle. Many of the Jabiimi resistance fighters use their comm. links to contact loved ones and the Clones spend these few precious hours repairing communications with the Republic.

Anakin spends his in a tent, replaying a recording.

_"Your planet, your _home_, is being drowned in blood! For three thousand years we were loyal to the Republic, but did they send aid during the Brainrot Plague? Did they react when the Trandoshans invaded? Where were the Jedi when Lythian pirates killed your parents, and mine? The Republic _ignored_ our cries for help until they learned that underneath all the mud, our planet has a heart of ore! Now they want to control the ore to prevent us from profiting from trade with the Confederacy of Independent Systems! We will let the Jedi Generals know that we will fight to be free! We will fight to defend our planet! We will send the Jedi home in caskets –"_

"Turn that off please, Anakin."

Anakin flicks off the holorecording of Alto Stratus and looks up at Obi-Wan entering the tent.

'Life', Anakin thinks, isn't very much. But Obi-Wan somehow makes it worth it. They share a tired smile and Obi-Wan pulls off his muddied cloak. They don't have to say anything to each other anymore, not really. Twelve months together since the Salvation Run incident, and all they need to do is share a glance, or a simple touch on the shoulder. Obi-Wan rests a hand on Anakin's back now – it's cold, yes, but still soothing and the ultimate comfort.

"It upsets you," Obi-Wan says, looking down at the datapad. Anakin's too weary to even scowl, and settles for a sigh.

"Of course it does. All these years Jabiim as suffered and only _now_ –"

"Anakin." Obi-Wan sits down next to him and covers his hand with his own. "None of this was your fault."

"We're Jedi. We're supposed to _help_ people, not swoop in after they've suffered because the Republic wants their planet's resources!"

Obi-Wan just keeps looking at him with that measured serenity, the emotion Anakin knows he'll never possess. "I know," Obi-Wan says softly. "I'd be lying if I said it didn't affect me as well. But we're here now, and _we're_ here for the people. Not this planet's ore."

It's late in the evening, although one would never be able to tell by looking outside – midday and midnight look the same on Jabiim half the time. It's late and the rain is so heavy that even Stratus and his Nimbus troops won't dare attack. Anakin seizes the chance to lean against Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan holds him close. "Do you think this war will ever end?" Anakin asks.

Obi-Wan's clothes are wet and the dampness seeps through to Anakin's clothes, making him shiver. "It's been more than two years now," Obi-Wan says. He doesn't put an exact date on it anymore. Logically Anakin knows it's probably been at least twenty-four months since the Battle of Geonosis, but it feels so much longer. "Both sides are wearing out. Hopefully, an end will be reached soon."

"Or we'll just wear each other out until there's nothing left."

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. "You're awfully bit pessimistic today. I do wish you'd stop replaying that recording."

"It's the rain," Anakin says, allowing himself a grin. This, at least, he can still do around Obi-Wan. _Laugh, or you'll despair_. "I don't like the rain."

"First you don't like sand, and now you don't like rain. Can't you make up your mind about anything?"

"My opinions are like my weight: it fluctuates depending on the planet we're on."

"Perhaps you ought to lay off all those energy bars, then."

Anakin laughs and Obi-Wan pulls away.

"I need to get out of these wet clothes," Obi-Wan says. "Could you go and check on the Clones quickly, and make sure they're settled for the night?"

_I'd rather help you out of your clothes_, Anakin thinks, and judging by the slight tinge of pink on Obi-Wan's cheeks he knows exactly what Anakin just thought. With a grin, Anakin slips out of the tent and into the rain again. Just because they can't _do_ anything doesn't mean he can't tease.

* * *

One of the things Obi-Wan misses the most is silence.

He's longed for a true silence ever since Salvation Run and Zigoola twelve months ago. Although the whispers of _die, Jedi_ have long since stopped haunting his dreams, the chant has been replaced by other noises: heavy cannons, blaster fire, the screams of innocent people, Jango Fett's everywhere voice in pain or anger or giving orders. And now, the rain.

He understands why Anakin hates it so much, although he has slightly different personal reasons. The first of which being, it reminds him all too well of the cruel rain on Zigoola, hard enough to tear skin and cold enough to chill a person to their bone. What should be a bringer of life has come to mean death for him.

When Anakin returns, dripping wet, he begins to strip off his clothes in front of Obi-Wan. He's long past the stage of blushing about it; he's seen Anakin undressed too many times in the past, and vice versa. Which isn't to say he doesn't take an appreciative look, of course…

"Is your leg playing up?" Anakin says, and Obi-Wan glances down to find himself massaging his thigh. He pulls his hand away.

"No," he replies. "It's just a habit."

"If it hurts –"

It does hurt, but it's only a distant ache and it's so much a part of him now that he almost thinks he'd miss it if it were gone. "It's all right, Anakin," Obi-Wan says. "I'm just getting old, with all my aches and creaking joints."

Anakin laughs. "You're not old, Obi-Wan. In fact, if you shaved off your beard you'd look ten years younger." He quirks an eyebrow. "And sexier."

Obi-Wan scowls, torn between affection and annoyance. What is he supposed to respond with? _Please don't flirt with me, Anakin, you're really not making it any easier for me to deal with…_

Except there's no determination behind the thought anymore, and Anakin knows it as well. "I'm not shaving off my beard," Obi-Wan says firmly, instead, because that at least he still has conviction for. How odd, he thinks, that he has more loyalty to his beard than he does to his chastity vow.

War changes a person. War puts things into perspective. War becomes about finding things to live for.

_You know what? I think your beard is more likely to save you on the battle field than a chastity vow made when you were twenty-five_, Anakin had said to him a couple of months ago. Obi-Wan found it hard to disagree, but scolded him anyway.

Anakin shrugs. "Suit yourself. I don't mind either way."

Obi-Wan tsks and turns away, but hides a smile that he knows Anakin can sense regardless.

* * *

_Day 22 of the Battle of Jabiim_

Bad feelings are not unusual. Obi-Wan gets them all the time, and now Anakin has picked up the habit.

But this bad feeling has been lingering for more than a day, and Anakin knows it's more than just the average bad feeling. He feels jumpy and nervous, constrained in his own body. Moody and suddenly shaky, because he doesn't want to part from Obi-Wan's side. Not because he thinks Obi-Wan can't take care of himself, or because it is a bad tactical offence (because it's not, Obi-Wan coordinated it which automatically means it's brilliant), but simply because he hates this planet and he has a horrible bad feeling and just _once_ he'd like to not be a soldier or a Jedi so he can act like a human.

Anakin has long since learned how to trust his instincts; disobeying orders when he deems them necessary, turning down a different path than the one marked on the map. But his instincts are only telling him that something bad is going to happen. _Where_ and _when_ are infuriatingly elusive.

"I've got a bad feeling, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan fiddles with a small sonar device that he can't get working. "About this?"

Actually, no, which is what surprises him the most. Not about this. "No," Anakin says. "Just… a bad feeling."

"Well, we'll deal with it when it happens. Focus on the now."

_But what if one of us isn't there do deal with it?_ he suddenly thinks, and flinches. "I –" he says, but Obi-Wan's right. There's nothing they can do about a vague feeling. Focus on the here and now, etcetera. "All right."

Obi-Wan finally turns to face him, his stormy eyes uncharacteristically bright with adrenalin. Anakin knows he should say something, and Obi-Wan is no doubt thinking the same thing, but _may the Force be with you_ is so overused and Anakin doesn't want that to be the last thing he says or hears from his former Master before separating to spring a trap that could kill them at any time.

Anakin steps forward holds out his hand, intent on parting ways with Obi-Wan like a man, and moves closer. Close enough to see the fine lines of stress creasing his brow. Close enough to follow every drop of rainwater as they snake their way down his face, his lips.

_We've been behaving ourselves,_ Anakin thinks. _One kiss won't hurt_.

He knows Obi-Wan knows what he's thinking, because Obi-Wan looks both amused and disapproving at the same time. He never gets a chance which emotion to decide upon, because Anakin presses his lips against Obi-Wan's and they are feverishly kissing: tongues twining, hands twisting in robes and rising to tangle in hair and gripping tightly, bodies pressed against each other's in an embrace neither ever want to be released from.

"We shouldn't be doing this, Anakin," Obi-Wan murmurs against his mouth.

"Shut up and enjoy it. It's been more than a year, you can't expect us to hold out forever."

"You _rotten_ influence –"

Anakin kisses him again. "Be careful, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan looks a little dazed and breathless. It's incredibly endearing. "Only if you take your own advice," he replies with a smile.

"Rendezvous back at the camp by 1900 hours."

"I will," Obi-Wan says, and disappears once more into the rain.

_Be careful_, Anakin had said, and he closes his eyes. _Be careful about what?_

* * *

Anakin has taken a personal disliking to ARC Trooper Alpha.

"No executions, Alpha," Anakin orders over the comm. link back at the camp, 1930 hours. "They're wounded. We can't end this civil war just by killing half the planet."

_"Says who?"_ Alpha mutters.

"Anakin is right," Obi-Wan says sternly. "The Jabiim rebels will only fight harder if we give them reason to hate us."

_"Unless we also teach them to fear us. But it's your command, General."_

And a good thing too, Obi-Wan thinks, otherwise Anakin would have done something to Alpha several weeks ago. Anakin turns off his comm. link with a growl and thrusts it back into his pocket angrily. "I want the 501st," he snaps.

"You know that's impossible, Anakin."

"Why?" he demands. "Because Windu wanted to play with them for a bit?"

"Because they are pivotal for the end of the Battle of Alderaan. I know you don't like Alpha, but –"

"He's a lunatic."

And that is the end of that conversation. They walk together in silence – through the rain, as usual – until they reach the medical set up. The Clone Troopers are bringing in the last of the injured Jabiimi, and Captain Orliss Gillmunn approaches them, sluggishly making his way through the mud. He's more at ease here than the Republic troops though; an advantage, Obi-Wan supposes, of being a Jabiimi native. It is a small mercy that he is on their side. A remarkable man, is Orliss Gillmunn: he survived Alto Stratus's purge of the Jabiim Congress and rallied the forces loyal to the Republic, and now fights with all his might to win back his planet.

And he is also heartbreakingly naive: he believes the Republic will do anything to support the Jabiimi loyalists. Obi-Wan hopes he will never have to face the day when he realises that while a handful of Jedi will, the Republic… probably will not.

"Is that all of them?" Obi-Wan asks when Gillmunn reaches them.

Gillmunn nods. "Yes, General Kenobi."

"Good. We'll need to interrogate the survivors."

Gillmunn glances at Anakin. "I think I'd better question them first."

Obi-Wan nods. "If you think it's for the best, then of course, Captain. They are, after all, your people."

"Thank you, Master Jedi."

Gillmunn bows and parts ways with them, turning towards the closest medical tent. Beside Obi-Wan, Anakin sighs. "They're terrified of us, Obi-Wan." Anakin grimaces. "The survivors. One accused me of eating children the other day."

Obi-Wan raises his eyebrow. "I told you to make yourself more presentable before seeing them. I'd say your appearance probably did the most scaring."

"Ha, ha," Anakin said.

"On a more serious note…" Obi-Wan adds, turning sober once more, "remember that there are over a hundred thousand inhabited worlds in the Republic, and there are only a few thousand of us. Billions of beings have never even heard of our Order, or of the Force. When we do appear… especially in war… we may appear to be killers." He looks away and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I sometimes fear that it exactly what we are."

Anakin is silent for a moment, then touches his shoulder and makes him look up. "We're also Healers. Look."

Obi-Wan does, and sees a Jedi whose name he doesn't even know easing a man's pain with the Force. It is a sight that brings him a moment of much-needed mental ease. But the day has been hard and long and the recording of Stratus's speech plays through his mind, and he thinks, _But is it enough?_ _Is it enough to heal a person's body, while we destroy their planet?_

"We're defending these people," Obi-Wan says out loud, mostly to reassure himself.

"We're defending the planet's ore," Anakin scowls.

"That is what Palpatine would have us do. I told you before, we're here for the people. Don't forget that."

Anakin just nods stiffly, still unconvinced, but takes on a more pleasant expression when a young girl walks past. Thirteen years old and an orphaned Jedi Padawan, Aubrie Wyn is one of the Order's most promising healers. It's sad, Obi-Wan thinks, to see her on this planet. And so young, too. They're getting younger, the Jedi fighting on the front lines. She isn't the only one of her age here; there are seven more orphaned Padawans. It is the Council's hope that a team of Padawans might equal the strength of one Jedi Knight, but the idea makes Obi-Wan feel ill and made Anakin utterly furious. _This is war_, Obi-Wan must sometimes remind himself, but he always comes back to: _is this what we've become? Sending children to die?_

Still, Obi-Wan smiles at Aubrie and nods, and she turns the gesture.

"Hello, Aubrie," Anakin greets.

"Master Skywalker," Aubrie replies with a bow, and tugs her cloak around her soaked body a little more tightly before going off in search of dry clothes. Obi-Wan's gaze follows her sadly.

"Is she okay?" Anakin murmurs to Obi-Wan.

"She's still coping with Master Sirrus's death and the change of plans. She'd just been asked to train with Master Windu before Master Sirrus died – a very high honour. But it will have to wait."

Anakin's jaw clenches and he looks away. Obi-Wan holds back a sigh.

"It's late. Let's turn in for the night," he suggests.

Anakin shakes his head. "I don't want to."

"Why?"

"Because… the faster I go to sleep, the sooner tomorrow will come," Anakin says. His tone is so soft that Obi-Wan must lean closer to hear what he says.

"And what's happening tomorrow?" Obi-Wan asks. Has he had a vision? Or is the bad feeling he was talking about earlier?

"I don't know."

"Anakin –"

Anakin bristles, but Obi-Wan sees the real fear in his eyes and twisting along their bond. "Please, just – let's go to the tent. Okay?"

Obi-Wan nods, and doesn't pry further.

* * *

"You feel it too, now, don't you."

It would have seeped over the bond. And even if it hadn't, Obi-Wan's connection to the Force is remarkable. He probably felt it on his own. Anakin knows he has, because he's sitting on the edge of his tiny bunk, brows furrowed together in a deep frown and his entire body is tense. "Yes," is all Obi-Wan says, and the tent falls silent again. The rain splatters on the outside of their tent, the constant drumming now like a murmur that eavesdrops on everything they say.

Anakin sits next to Obi-Wan and hugs himself. "I don't know what's going to happen," he says. "But it's going to be bad."

"This is war, Anakin. Either of us could die at any moment –"

"Please don't say that."

Obi-Wan sighs. "Not saying it doesn't mean it's less likely to happen. Have you had a vision?"

"No. I just know."

Another short silence.

"Maybe it won't happen," Obi-Wan says.

"Maybe."

"And maybe it will."

Anakin's lips tighten and he refuses to answer.

"Anakin…"

Obi-Wan's hand rests on Anakin's thigh now, warm and comforting. They sit together and listen to the rain, and something passes between them in that moment. They don't need to say anything else. Obi-Wan is staring at some corner of the tent in deep concentration or personal debate. Anakin does everything he can to stop himself from holding on to Obi-Wan.

There's fear now. Horrible, crippling fear about _tomorrow_. And there's not a damn thing he can do about it.

"Whatever happens, Anakin… you know how I feel."

Finally, Obi-Wan looks at him. For the first time in days his eyes are not guarded, and Anakin can see every emotion running through them. Desire, fear, guilt. Love. He seems to struggle with himself for a long moment before breathing sharply and reaching towards Anakin, who moves at the same time.

"I thought you said –"

"I know," Obi-Wan says. "Although, if you don't mind, I _am_ trying to forget about it."

Anakin raises an eyebrow. "That's not like you, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan lowers his gaze, just for a moment. "I know," he says again. "But I am not my vow."

With those words, Anakin understands what Obi-Wan is doing. What Obi-Wan wants to give him. His breath catches, and he presses his lips against Obi-Wan's again. It doesn't matter now. The Code doesn't matter, Obi-Wan's chastity vow doesn't matter – it's just them, now, and the need to give each other this. The kiss is gentle and quiet but full of strength – a sense of _moremoreplease_ behind it as they take their time to softly explore each other's mouths. It's funny, in a way, how they move desperately and silently but not fast, as if afraid that a sudden movement or a word will shatter the moment.

It takes minutes, maybe hours, but time is not something they want to think about it. Fingers tangle in hair and limbs wind around the other. Clothes are stripped off and it ends up with naked sweaty skin sliding against naked sweaty skin. Obi-Wan's eyes are squeezed shut now, as if hoping to forget what he's doing even as his leg wraps around Anakin's thigh in a movement that screams _closer_.

The rain doesn't stop. The tent is almost silent, bar the sound of ragged kisses and pants and moans, and the whisper of Obi-Wan's name on Anakin's lips. It's dark, and it smells of mud and rain and sweat and sex. The air is thick with tenderness and fear, tension, and that heavy _something_ reminding them that maybe this is the only chance they'll ever have.

Foreheads are pressed together when Anakin discovers what Obi-Wan feels like in his hand, lips bitten when Obi-Wan returns the favour.

"We –" Anakin breathes against Obi-Wan's lips, "we don't have to – if you don't want –"

"It's all right. Please."

It's clumsy and nervous. Trembling hands grasp around for something to use, and Anakin finds a jar of bacta healing gel. It's not perfect but it'll do. Anakin takes his time preparing Obi-Wan, watching his face for any sign of discomfort. One hand is braced under Obi-Wan's uninjured thigh, the other caressing his face, relishing the contradictory soft and rough bristles of his beard, when Anakin finally slides into him. Obi-Wan grunts, face contorting in pain, and immediately Anakin freezes. "Am I –"

"It's fine," Obi-Wan hisses, one hand held steady at the curve of Anakin's neck, but Anakin can feel his body tremble beneath his, in pain or fear or arousal – it's hard to tell. "Just… don't move yet, I…"

They lie together, unmoving, for what feels like a long time. Anakin's body quivers with the need to move but he doesn't, too aware of Obi-Wan. Finally Obi-Wan opens his eyes and nods his head jerkily, and Anakin sighs heavily. He thrusts gently, even though his body aches to go faster and harder. Although this is a man underneath him, it's been a long time for Obi-Wan. There must be pain, he can't possibly be comfortable, but Obi-Wan doesn't seem to care because his lips find Anakin's and he's silently pleading for Anakin to set the pace they both want, only breaking away to pant for air when Anakin finds that spot deep inside him that makes him throw his head back and moan.

It isn't long until Anakin comes. Pleasure whites out his senses and the galaxy around him, silencing everything except Obi-Wan's moans and the sounds torn from his own throat. Numbing everything except the feel of Obi-Wan around him, in his arms, and their bond that sings.

Obi-Wan groans shortly after and shudders in Anakin's arms before relaxing and going still, eyelashes fluttering.

"Obi-Wan…"

"Shh," Obi-Wan whispers, eyes closed. "Don't speak."

Silence settles over them again. They lie there together for some time afterwards, Anakin touching Obi-Wan everywhere he can reach, Obi-Wan running his hands up his back and over his shoulders, turning to meet mouth to mouth in a touch that is somehow more than a kiss.

"I love you," Anakin whispers later. "You don't have to say it back. I just wanted you to know. Whatever happens, at least… at least we have this. Right?"

Obi-Wan doesn't answer because he's asleep, but a small smile lingers on his lips.

It's enough for Anakin.

* * *

_Day 23 of the Battle of Jabiim_

When Anakin wakes up, he finds himself still in Obi-Wan's arms. It's warm, Anakin thinks, and tries to curl in closer, caught between those realms of asleep and awake. Obi-Wan's beard – once soft, now bristly and overgrown – tickles his face.

"I told you to shave your beard," Anakin mumbles, and Obi-Wan laughs, making Anakin look up in surprise. "Oh. You're awake."

"I am. Hello, there," Obi-Wan says, and Anakin smiles at him.

"Hey."

No words are needed; they can see it in each other's eyes already. So instead they listen to the rain for a moment, trying to delay the day for as long as they can.

"Another beautiful day on Jabiim," Obi-Wan murmurs. It's supposed to be a joke but his words fill Anakin with utter dread.

_I want to go home_, Anakin almost says. The thought is childish, even to his own mind, and he clutches Obi-Wan a bit tighter because he already knows that 'home' is Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan rubs Anakin's shoulder gently, letting him take in as much of Obi-Wan as he can before the small alarm goes off, signalling 0500 hours.

"Mmph, no," Anakin mumbles when Obi-Wan tries to sit up. Obi-Wan chuckles.

"As much as I would love to stay here, we do have a battle to fight."

The first half of his sentence makes the most sense right now. The second half the sentence Anakin doesn't even want to think about. They dress silently, turned away from each other for a semblance of modesty. It seems foolish though, considering, so much so that Anakin actually laughs, then catches Obi-Wan's gaze. Obi-Wan smiles at him. It's strained, though; painful and wistful, laden with thoughts of last night and the persistent weight of the knowledge that _today_ –

Obi-Wan grasps his arm. "Anakin," he says, voice thick with emotion. "Thank you."

Anakin sighs and lets his head rest on Obi-Wan's shoulder. His clothes smell like rain and mud but the feel of Obi-Wan's arms around him fills his mind with memories of the last night. _At least we have this._ "Now what?"

"Ideally, I'd like to to talk."

Of course.

"Unfortunately, we don't live in an ideal galaxy at the moment. So we do what we've been doing for the past two years." He looks sad, which is a cover-up emotion for devastation, and it's all Anakin can do to stop himself from losing control. Obi-Wan takes a short, shaky breath and says, "We're soldiers."

Anakin shakes his head. "We're _Jedi_."

But they are also so much more, to themselves and to each other, and they both know it. Obi-Wan smiles. "I'm so proud of you, Anakin." He grasps Anakin's hand, kisses his lips gently, and stands back. "May the Force be with you, Knight Skywalker."

"And with you, Master Kenobi."

* * *

_"This is the shelter base! We are under attack! Repeat, we are under attack –!"_

_"– communications equipment is completely waterlogged –"_

_"_– _ground vehicles are mired in the mud! Permission to call down the gunships, sir?"_

_"Permission denied! The atmospheric conditions are too turbulent, they'll never make it through –"_

_"I'm going after Stratus!"_

That last voice is Anakin's. Obi-Wan brings his comm. link up to his mouth. "Be careful, Anakin!" he shouts, but there's no reply.

Five hours of battle, and it's getting worse. He wipes his face, yearning for the days he didn't have rain pelting on it almost every waking hour, and Force-pushes an advancing Separatist droid. He needn't have bothered; the droids are more an annoyance on Jabiim than an actual threat. The water ruins their circuits and the mud halts their already jerky movements. They do still carry blasters, though – a shot flies past his head from behind and he spins around, lightsaber out and ready to destroy it.

But the droid that attacked him is already destroyed. Alpha lowers his blaster and nods.

"Welcome to the battle, Alpha," Obi-Wan says.

Alpha kicks the Separatist droid's head. It doesn't go far; it sticks in the mud and sinks a bit. Alpha scowls at it. "I've had better welcomes," he growls, and cocks his blaster. "Time to finish this battle, I think."

"Watch the Nimbus troopers," Obi-Wan advises Alpha. "They have repulsor boots. Don't let them flank you!"

"We'll ground them," Alpha says, and transmits the order to the Clones under his command.

_"General Kenobi, we're overrunning the main emplacement – I suggest you send a flanking force to prevent enemy retreat."_

Obi-Wan grabs his comm. link. "Kass! Your unit is closest – get around the back of that hill, now!"

_"Copy that, General Kenobi!"_

"Ah, the 'Padawan Pack' to the rescue," Alpha says sarcastically, and Obi-Wan shoots him a sharp look.

"Don't underestimate them, Alpha."

Anakin's voice erupts from the comm. link. "_Obi-Wan, we have at least one Walker on the move!"_

He can see it. It's amazing, seeing an AT-AT in action on Jabiim. It was never designed for such conditions, but now that it's up they may have an advantage. "Protect it! Use it to lock down our right flank!"

But his instructions come too late – barely a hundred metres away, Obi-Wan can see with horrifying clarity as two Nimbus troopers run around it then dash away again. Two large explosions, from the walker's feet, rock the landscape, bursts of flame thriving in spite of the thundering rain. The AT-AT plummets forwards, crashing into the mud.

And in that instant, he knows: they can't win the battle today. Not without the walker. Retreat is the only option.

"We have to evacuate the troops!" he cries to Alpha.

"General –"

"We can't win this one, Alpha! Give the order to evacuate and come with me! _Hurry!_"

Alpha follows him to the AT-AT, the rain pounding loudly on his trooper uniform. Obi-Wan can sense Alpha's disapproval but keeps going anyway, intent on rescuing his men still trapped inside the destroyed walker.

"_Obi-Wan, what are you doing?"_

Obi-Wan ignores Anakin's voice on his comm. link and reaches the fallen AT-AT. It's still smoking and burning – the rain might be pouring but it won't put out these fires in a hurry. He ignites his lightsaber and carves his way into the AT-AT carefully. The first sight that greets him in devastating, but he's seen too much of this over the last two years for it to affect him right now. Of the Clones who were inside, only four are moving. Another three are limp across the floors, clearly dead. Nothing can be done for them. _I don't even know their names._

"Everybody out, before it explodes!"

The Clones scramble for the exit that Obi-Wan made, pouring out of the fiery AT-AT and into the unforgiving rain. But more are injured; groans intermingle with the spitting fires that count down the seconds they have left here.

Anakin's voice crackles on his comm. link again, but Obi-Wan is too occupied to pick it up immediately. _"Obi-Wan, we've secured this section!"_

One of the Clones has broken both his legs. Obi-Wan hauls him up and puts the Clone's arm around his shoulders so that he can move him. Alpha takes his other arm. The Clone groans in agony but there's no time to be gentle. His comm. link comes alive with Anakin's voice again. _"Obi-Wan? Are you there?"_

He fumbles for the comm. link with one hand, trying to keep the Clone upright against him and Alpha. "I'm here. Well done. Now get over to the AT-AT, we need you and Aubrie here."

"_I see it. We're on our wa—"_

* * *

Nobody deserves to die trapped in a blazing inferno. It would be agonising: skin burning and blistering from the superheated flames, lungs burning from the inside with every struggling breath. If the fire doesn't kill you, the smoke will suffocate you. A slow, torturous death.

Anakin Skywalker can only stare from the ground where the shock wave threw him. Molten fragments of the AT-AT rain from the sky, fire and water. In the centre of it all is an inferno where the AT-AT used to be. The comm. link in his hand buzzes with static, the connection cut.

Aubrie's hands are pushing him, trying to haul him to his feet, and she's shouting at him to move before there's another explosion, they have to go, but her words sound like nonsense and his ears are ringing with the sound of the explosion instead.

_Master Skywalker, please, we have to go –_

The bond is silent. It's _silent_ –

"Anakin, please, we can't stay here –!"

"I'm coming, Aubrie," he hears himself whisper, and pulls himself to his feet. It doesn't feel like him – he feels like he's possessed by some clearer-thinking soldier – who assesses the situation. One part of his mind is hopelessly detached from reality and completely in denial: _he's not dead he wasn't on there he was somewhere else he's not dead he's all right he's fine he'snotdead_.

The other part is Obi-Wan's voice, the rational part of his mind.

_No-one could have survived that. You have to get out of here. Do your duty._

That's the one he listens to. Aubrie is crying (or is that just the rain pouring down her face?) and Anakin remembers how young and how very alone she is. So he takes her hand and pulls her away from the explosion to regroup with whoever is still alive, and pushes everything else away.

No-one deserves to die trapped in a blazing inferno.

_Oh, Force – Obi-Wan –_

Anakin chokes on his tears and trudges through the mud and countless bodies, dragging Aubrie with him, and thinks, _please, don't let him have suffered._

* * *

_Day 30 of the Battle of Jabiim_

"Commander Skywalker," Gillmunn says, "we've received word that General Norcuna's forces have been wiped out near the city of Choal. He's among the confirmed dead."

Despite how wet it is, Anakin feels his mouth turn dry. "But that…" he says, and has to start again. "That makes me the highest ranking Jedi on Jabiim."

Gillmunn's eyes are tense with pity. What must he be thinking? Jedi or not, Hero With No Fear or not, Anakin Skywalker is still a man shy of twenty-three years. Only a few years older than the Padawans. It isn't this that Gillmunn should be worried about though. Anakin has led his own missions before. He's led his own battles. He has seen more combat in more than two years than a lot of people ever would in there lives. But there's something so infinitely different about this now, because this time he is completely on his own. There's no fellow Jedi Knight, his age or older, to help share the burden of battle.

This is the planet that Obi-Wan died on.

The memory plays over and over again in his mind. The explosion, the screams of the Clones caught in it, the bond falling completely and utterly silent and his comm. link receiving nothing but static. The fire burning, and the rain pelting down and not putting it out.

_At least we have this_, Anakin remembers. Obi-Wan smiling, laughing, scolding him for a tasteless joke, blushing, fighting, meditating. Obi-Wan in his arms, Obi-Wan _alive_.

_At least we have this._

He swallows.

_What would Obi-Wan do?_

His fist clenches. _He would do his duty._

Anakin hates that word in all its incarnations, but right now it's all he can bear to do. _Don't slow down. Keep moving._ Because if he slows down, if he lets himself think about it, he'll break and he can't afford to do that on Jabiim, not now. There'll be time for it when he gets off this planet, when it's all over here. Time to think and deal with it. But only _after_. "Give me the shortest possible briefing," Anakin orders, and Gillmunn nods, apparently pleased with Anakin.

"Alto Stratus has us on the run throughout most of the northern hemisphere. Eighteen Jedi and nine thousand Clone Troopers have been killed in battle so far –"

"Force," Anakin mutters.

"We do have some hope. Our intelligence has located Stratus on the Razor Coast. If we capture him, the rest of the Jabiimi Separatists might surrender."

"Then mobilise all of our forces immediately."

"What about the surviving Padawans whose Masters were slain?"

There are eight in total. Eight children, none older than the age of sixteen. Children who should have been safe in the Temple on Coruscant, far away from the front line as possible. Children who have been sent here to fight, as per the Council's orders. As long as they remain on Jabiim, they are Anakin's responsibility. A responsibility he is willing to take, but not one he'd be so careless with as the Order is.

"Send them back to Coruscant with the resupply convoy when it gets here," Anakin says. "I'm not ordering any more children to their deaths."

And then he dives back into the rain, ignoring everyone else around him, and lets it pelt his skin until he can hardly feel a thing any more.


	37. The Padawan Pack

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

This has been an extremely stressful year! But I am delighted to share some good news with you all: I have finished University! Yay! Things got a bit busy for me over the last six months; I was juggling full-time Uni with two casual jobs and an internship. My fanfiction, sadly, suffered. But don't worry, because as I promised, this story is continuing! A massive, MASSIVE thank you to each and every single person who took the time to review! I don't have time to reply individually to reviews anymore but I want you all to know that I read them all and I cherish every single one. Thank you so much for the support, guys! I couldn't have made it this far without you!

A quick note: I won't be taking you through Obi-Wan's time as Ventress's captive. This is for several reasons, the first of which being that after reading Valairy Scot's _What The Heart Hides_ and its sequel _Truths Of The Heart_ I knew that there was no way I'd ever be able to come close to the story told there. If you want a brilliant, emotional story of Obi-Wan's captivity by Ventress, please do go and check those two stories out! I promise you won't be disappointed, they're both incredible. The second reason is because this time, I really wanted to focus on Anakin. I think I've overstepped my quota for Obi-Wan torture for this story…

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Thirty-One –  
The Padawan Pack

_The rain batters him like a whip, assaulting him, punishing him. It's no less than what he deserves. He's a slave to the mud, and the rain, and the death – a prisoner to the Jedi Order, and the Code. Shackled to his past – don't leave me, mum – and it's so tight, like a vice in his mind. Captured by Padmé's eyes, her allure, the scent of her hair – I can't leave her! – and he chokes, pitching forwards into the mud, knees sinking deep into the prison._

_But he remembers the feel of Obi-Wan's body, rocking against his, pleasure and fear and desperation and need controlling their movements, and Anakin shudders and tilts his face up towards the cloudy sky. Raindrops strike his face like small pebbles, attacking his skin – another enemy, another slaver – but as the heavens roar with thunder and flash with lightning, the strangled, desperate scream of Obi-Wan's name entwines with them. Tears mingle with the rain and he gasps and weeps and lets it all out._

_His body may be a prisoner to Jabiim, and his mind a prisoner to the past, but his heart is with Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan is freedom._

I have a job to do.

_He picks himself up._

* * *

_Day 34 of the Battle of Jabiim_

But the resupply convoy never arrives.

It's only been four days, but on Jabiim four days is equivalent to four years. If the convoy didn't get through three days ago when it wasn't raining, when the last of their connection to the outside galaxy still worked, then it never will – and the Padawans are stuck on this hellhole with Anakin, in battle.

"_NOBODY MOVE!"_ Anakin screams over the explosions behind them. "Mines! _We're standing on mines – no-one move!_"

"We can't fight standing still, Master Skywalker!" Aubrie yells back, slashing her lightsaber through the air to deflect the blaster bolts. "We have to meet their attack with one of our own!"

She's right – they all know that. Anakin hisses and swipes the back of his hand across his forehead to clear it of the rain, if only for a second. "Kass," he says, facing the young girl on his other side, "we have to spread out."

"I know!" she snaps, her face illuminated by the glow of her green lightsaber. Like Aubrie, like all the others, she's slashing it through the rain to deflect the blaster bolts – her technique imperfect and clumsy. _She's too young. They're all too young_. All eight of these young Masterless Padawans. It's not fair. It's _wrong_. "Stop talking so I can sense the safest path!"

"We don't have _time_! If we're making a move, we need to do it _now_!" Mak snaps.

"There's a large grouping of mines right in front of us. If we can clear those out –"

"I'm on it," Anakin says. "Stand back, all of you!"

It's a risky move. He won't have cover from the fire when he does this, but there's no way in hell he's going to ask one of his young charges to defend him and risk their lives. Anakin stretches out his hand and closes his eyes, pushing the Force out over the field to sense the mines Kass said are in front of them. He knows what the Jabiim mines feel like now, after thirty-four days here, and he can disarm them as quickly as he can blink. But Anakin gets a better idea – the mines are right in front of the enemy shooters, at least twenty of them, all firing at the Padawans. A blaster bolt stings the side of his face, just missing him, but he ignores it can uses the Force to pressure weight on the mines – just enough to –

"_ARRRGH!_"

Anakin is thrown back with the force of the explosions, and he lands hard in the mud metres away from where he stood – ears ringing with the sound.

"_Anakin! Master Skywalker!_"

Aubrie's voice sounds distant and sluggish, but he feels her hand on his arm and Kass's fingers pressing to his neck to find his pulse. "I'm fine," he says – or thinks he says; he can't actually hear himself. "Just winded. I'm fine."

Tae Diath and Zule Xiss cover the rear as Kass helps him to his shaky feet. They're still grossly outnumbered – Stratus's men surging towards them from all sides, held at bay only because of the mines. Anakin spits on the mud, clearing his mouth of the taste of blood and foul rainwater, and waves the attention of the eight Padawans. "Retreat to Cobalt Station," he orders them.

"But –"

"No buts! Get back to Cobalt Station right now. I'll meet you there later."

"What are you going to do?" Elora asks, and Anakin – for the first time in days – grins.

"I'm gonna blow this field up. Now get to cover."

* * *

_Day 37 of the Battle of Jabiim_

Cobalt Station offers cover from the storm, at least, and is stocked with a few (but not enough) medical supplies. There's enough to treat Aubrie's left foot of oncoming gangrene, but after thirty-seven days of miserable rain all of them are feeling heavy with water, as if poisoned by the constant onslaught.

Today there is another break due in the rain, according to the shaky devices. "How long do you think it'll last?" Aubrie asks Anakin, hovering beside him as he waits next to the communications devices. It took a few hours to get them working again. At least, he _hopes_ they're working. He won't be able to tell unless they receive a transmission. He sighs and shrugs.

"I don't know, Aubrie. Less than a standard hour, I think, according to the locals. Personally I think we should just enjoy the lack of rain while it lasts."

The Separatists haven't caught up with them yet, but they will by nightfall.

In the silence of the station, Anakin watches his Padawans. Well, okay, they're not _his_, not by any official sense of the word. But they are his responsibility, his teenagers to take care of. Kass and Vaabesh wait together in a corner, talking quietly. Mak, Windo and Zule in another corner, trying to sleep, their damp cloaks hung up over chairs in an attempt to dry them. Tae and Elora not too far from Anakin.

"Are you well, Tae?" Anakin hears Elora ask her bond-mate. "I feared the emotions raging around us would disrupt your telepathy again."

"I'm focusing on the only balanced mind among us, Elora." Tae faces her. "Yours."

Well, fair enough, Anakin reckons. He doesn't feel balanced. He's trying, for the Padawans – trying not to think about Obi-Wan, or feel the empty weight of his absence, or let the pain consume him. But it's hard, and if he doesn't keep his shields up he won't be able to stay strong for them. Anakin jumps when he feels Aubrie's hand on his arm.

"It's okay, Master Skywalker." She gazes at him with sympathy.

He smiles grimly. "Is it, Aubrie?" He slings his arm around her shoulders. "Thank you."

It's another hour until the rain stops, and the silence of the air outside is like music.

* * *

Fifteen minutes into the rain-free hour they have, a transmission comes through. Anakin fumbles for the answer controls, and a familiar blue harshly-wavering figure appears as a holoimage.

"Chancellor!"

_"Anakin!"_ The Chancellor's voice is crackly and difficult to understand, but the tone of relief in his voice is palpable._ "Thank the Force. We feared you were dead."_

_No. Not me. But the others… Obi-Wan…_ Anakin's fist clenches. "Not yet," he says grimly. "How did you get through to us?"

"_Persistence. We know the dire situation on Jabiim. Anakin, we need you to lead the evacuation efforts."_

Evacuation. The word is like a punch to the gut. He knew this was inevitable; this battle, this planet – it's a lost cause, and evacuation is the only sensible option. _But Obi-Wan died here. I'm not ready to leave._ It's stupid, Anakin knows that – there was no body to recover, there's no sense in staying here just because Obi-Wan's last moments were on this wasteland.

He has eight Padawans to look after now, and he's not staying behind on his planet to condemn them to death. "Very well, Chancellor. I'll gather the Padawans and we'll make our way to Monsoon Mesa –"

"_No, not the Padawans – they must stay and hold the Separatists back."_

…_What?_

"I… Chancellor…?" He shakes his head. "No, I – I can't abandon the Padawans, sir. They'll die."

"_They will die with or without you, I'm afraid. But we can't afford to let the evacuation turn to chaos. Anakin, I've put my faith in you time and again. You have never failed the Republic. Do not fail me now."_

Anakin stares. Mouth dry, the edge of his vision shakes a bit, blurring with an emotion that he finally manages to place as _rage_. His jaw clenches tightly and he tries to regain control of himself, and manages to bluntly say, "I beg your pardon."

Palpatine knows something is wrong. _"I can make it an order, Anakin,"_ he says – gently and not unkindly. It's so at odds with the words.

"Yes, you could," Anakin agrees, "but I still won't follow it. I don't think you understand, Chancellor – I'm the highest ranking Jedi on Jabiim –"

"_Which is why I need you to lead the evacuation –"_

"– Which is why I need to protect these Padawans!" he snaps, finally losing composure. _Can't you understand?_ "The evacuation can be led by the Clone troopers. We'll make our way there when the time comes. I'm not leaving the Padawans."

_"Anakin –"_

"I'll send the Clone troopers," Anakin repeats. "I'll hold off the Separatists."

Palpatine opens his mouth to say something more, but the return of the rain and the storm saves Anakin from both having to listen and from doing something stupidly impulsive and rude, like cancelling the communication himself, or insulting the Chancellor. Palpatine's wavering blue image snaps out of existence, and Anakin sighs and leans forward against the now-defunct machine, his arms shaking horribly.

Aubrie touches his shoulder. "Anakin… he's right. You do need to go."

"No, Aubrie!" he snaps. "My place is _here_." He gazes around at the eight young Padawans around the room, these eight children who never had the chance to be children, and he sighs. "My place is with you. All of you. And we'll make it through. We just have to hold off the Separatists for a few days."

* * *

They hold out for six days against an army of more than 10, 000.

On the fortieth day of the battle, Tae Diath falls. He's killed by A-series assassin droids – cornered, and shot. He fights bravely to the end, and takes down four of the droids with him. But all it takes is a single shot, in the chest. It's quick and painless.

Elora Sund's death is not. Anakin hadn't realised how strong her psychic connection with Tae was until she screams. The psychic backlash is so powerful that it echoes in Anakin, shaking him to the core and spreading pain through all of his nerves. He catches her as she falls and they sink into the mud together, and Kass is yelling.

"What happened? _What happened? _I didn't see her get hit! _Elora_ –"

"She's dead," Anakin says hoarsely. "Her bond with Tae. The psychic backlash. She's… she's gone."

On the forty-first day of battle, Windo Nend is crushed under the wheel of a Hailfire droid. Anakin can't reach him in time – he's on the other side of the field, and can only watch in horror as Windo is tossed back from an explosion under the wheel of the moving Hailfire. In his last moments, Windo must have detonated a grenade, because the droid explodes – but Anakin still feels Windo's life abruptly cut off.

Zule Xiss feels it too, and howls in pain. "All my Masters warned me of the dangers of hate and anger," she sobs, and Anakin can sense her agony like a bleeding wound in the Force. She cuts through the enemy forces brutally, movements driven by pure rage. "But my hate and anger will _kill you all!_"

"Zule is slipping into darkness!" Mak yells. "Master Skywalker, Zule is –"

"What does it matter? At least she's on our side!" Vaabesh snaps, but Mak is right. He understands her anger and hatred better than she probably does herself, but she's putting herself in danger, he can feel it. Anakin cuts down the droid in his path and tries to run to Zule, to hold her back, but she's too fast, charging through her enemy forces like a madwoman – and too late, Anakin watches helplessly as the AT-AT looming over her in the distance explodes and falls.

On day forty-two, Mak Lotor and Kass Tod die together. Anakin senses it but doesn't realise until afterwards, trying to regroup with Aubrie, when he hears from Vaabesh – they were bombarded by incoming missiles from a Hailfire droid.

Anakin doesn't have time to bury any of them.

* * *

_Day 43 of the Battle of Jabiim_

"Hnngh. Aubrie. Master Skywalker."

"Hold on, Vaabesh!" Anakin says, grasping Vaabesh's shoulder with one hand. "The Republic forces are ready to evacuate – we can all get to Monsoon Mesa before they leave. Quick, get on the speeder –"

"No," Vaabesh whispers. "My containment suit… is breached… I'm being poisoned by the air."

The words don't make sense at first. Then they do, and he doesn't believe them. Then he does, and he shakes his head. "No. No, there's still time, we can save you –"

But Aubrie – tired and battered but still strong and calm – _how can you be so calm?_ – kneels beside her fellow Padawan and touches his mask. He looks at her and chokes, and she grasps his hand in hers. "I'm sorry, Vaabesh," she whispers, "but I need your lightsaber."

Immediately Anakin knows what she's going to do. "No. No, Aubrie –"

Vaabesh uses the last of his strength to pass his lightsaber up to her. "Of course. Take it. Use it… better than… I did…"

Vaabesh fades from the Force, and Anakin grabs Aubrie's arm. She pushes his hand away. "Go, Master Skywalker," she says, and places his hand on the speeder. "Jabiim is to be my fate. I don't think it is to be yours."

"_I can't leave you here!_"

"You must."

_Not you too. No more. Please, no more_ – "Please, not you too. I can't –" He grabs her shoulders. "I can't lose you as well. Please. You'll die if you go up against Stratus."

"I know." Aubrie hugs him. "But so will he. His death will stop any organised pursuit impossible. Go, Master Skywalker – and remember."

And then she's gone, running through the rain and the explosions, two lightsabers blazing in the darkness – and Anakin chokes and turns away, and gets on the speeder.

Ten minutes away from the field, he feels Aubrie's existence – bright, shining, wonderful Aubrie – vanish, and he's left with nothing but the wounds of eight Padawans and Obi-Wan and the rain slashing his face.

He thinks he's crying, but he can't tell anymore.

* * *

Anakin reaches Monsoon Mesa by nightfall. Captain Gillmunn greets him, tired and haggard but pleased to see him. "Skywalker! We lost contact with Cobalt Station, we feared the worse –"

"You feared correctly," Anakin says, tugging his soaked and shredded robe around his body.

"You held out days longer than we expected."

Anakin clenches his jaw.

"But if those transports don't arrive soon, then it will have been for nothing."

As Gillmunn speaks, the first transport arrives – shakily making its way through the raging storm to land on the firmest area of mud it can find. It's like a god-send; or it would be, if Anakin could feel something other than despair.

_Oh Force, Aubrie… the others…_

He doesn't pay attention to the transport until Rex –_Rex_ – runs up to him. "Commander Skywalker!"

Anakin smiles tiredly. "It's good to see you again, Rex. Nice piloting, I can't believe you made it through the storm." But then Anakin focuses on the transport, and realises that – that there are only _two_ transports. He looks up at the sky and rain pelts his face, but through the murky clouds he can't see any others trying to breach the atmosphere or cloud cover. He frowns. "Er. Rex?"

Anakin can't see Rex's face through the helmet, but he can guess his expression. "I'm sorry, sir. This is it. The Republic couldn't spare any more and we lost two of our other ships in the upper atmosphere."

The blood rushes from his face. "These will never carry all of us. Call in additional transports! Open a comm channel to Coruscant"

"It's impossible. With all the atmospheric activity, we can't even send a message to our dropships! And our scanners are picking up another storm system moving in. We have to take off within the hour, or we'll be grounded for days." Rex shakes his head. "I – I'm sorry, sir. There's nothing I can do. I wish there was, but –" He stands straight. "You're the last Jedi on Jabiim."

_Don't remind me. Please don't remind me. I failed them all, every single one of them –_

"You are the only authority I can recognise." Rex steps back. "What are your orders?"

* * *

Anakin thought losing Obi-Wan was the hardest thing he had to go through. And in some ways, it was and still is. It's been weeks since it happened, but Anakin hasn't had time to feel it yet. But losing the Padawans, failing them one by one as they all fell in vain, for a stupid war on a ghastly planet that the Republic has betrayed time and time again – this is hard.

And this is agonising.

He approaches Gillmunn with dread in his heart and step. "Captain Gillmunn… the Republic is fighting on fronts in hundreds of systems across the galaxy. Our forces are stretched thin and we need every trained soldier on the front lines. You and your followers have been very loyal to the Republic, but I can't leave my troops here to die. The Clones must be evac—"

Anakin's head snaps to one side and he staggers, cheek flaring in pain. Gillmunn's fist is pulled back again to take another strike. "_Blast you!_" He yells, and Anakin ducks the next blow. "_Blast you for proving Stratus right!_ We risked _everything_ for the Republic, and now you _abandon_us?"

It's not the physical pain that makes Anakin's eyes burn with tears of shame. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "This is your home. It's your fight, now."

"I don't _have_ a home," Gillmunn snarls. "_Your_ war destroyed it!"

"Stand down, Captain."

"I will _not_ stand down, you –!"

"_Stand down, Captain, and tell your men to do the same!"_

He could have subdued Gillmunn by wrapping the Force around his neck or pushing his hands down, but that would be cruel. The anger rushing through Anakin's veins isn't because of Gillmunn; he's angry at himself, at the Republic, and especially at Palpatine. But lashing out and hurting this man who has been nothing but loyal and has just been betrayed by the Republic again – that won't do any good. He laced the words with the Force instead, persuading Gillmunn to obey. Not that that's what he listens to, really. Gillmunn sinks to knees into the mud, a choke in his throat, and clenches his fists in his hair.

"I'm… I'm so sorry," Anakin whispers.

"_Kaff!_ Save your worthless apologies!" Gillmunn spits, and Anakin turns away and faces Rex, who is by his side once more.

"They're in shock, but not for much longer," Rex says. "I suggest we leave now."

There's nothing more Anakin wants to do right now than to cry. Nobody would notice – the rain would disguise it. But if he starts crying now he won't stop, so he straightens his shoulders and croaks out, "Fine. Load the transports. Wounded first."

He's the last on the ship. The Jabiimi soldiers hover around, watching with dull and dead eyes, numb and not yet feeling the anger that they should. When Anakin steps onto the ship, Gillmunn seems to snap back to attention, and Anakin meets his blazing eyes. Gillmunn staggers to his feet, his hand clenched around a rock.

"Run back to the Republic, traitors! _Scum!_"

The rock flies from his hand and almost strikes Anakin – and then another rock flies, and a blaster bolt hits the transport as it lifts up from the ground. It's an army down there, an entire betrayed army, and the rage and anger spreads through them like a wildfire, hotter and more furious than any mine explosion. The screams and shouts are incoherent now as they all surge towards the transports, throwing rocks and stones and shooting as much as they can.

"Hold your fire," Anakin orders the Clones, and they lift off into the sky, the blast bolts and rocks hitting the underside of the transport vessel harmlessly.

"_We will never forget this betrayal!_"

Anakin closes his eyes.

_No. I won't, either._

He remembers Aubrie's last words to him, her voice strong and steady and accepting. Her sacrifice. _Go, Master Skywalker – and remember._

_I will, Aubrie._

* * *

"Sir?"

"What."

"Now that we're clear of the planet, I'm receiving a comm. signal from Coruscant. The Supreme Chancellor would like a status report."

A deep loathing stirs in Anakin's chest at the thought of Palpatine. _You did this_, he thinks, and holds back a snarl. "Tell him it's over," Anakin snaps. "The Battle of Jabiim is over and we lost. We _all_ lost."

A moment of silence.

"Sir?"

Anakin turns his back on him. "Go away, Rex."

When he looks around a moment later, Rex is gone. And Anakin can't stop the tears this time.

* * *

_5 days later_

"The Chancellor has requested to see you, Anakin." Windu pauses. "Again."

"The Chancellor can see me after he's fought on the front lines and betrayed a planet on a higher authority's orders," Anakin says, but there's no acid – only weariness.

"Skywalker…"

"Don't, Master Windu. Not now. Please."

Not now, not in the sanctuary of the Temple gardens. He never used to feel the supposed tranquility of this place, not the way Obi-Wan did, but now… after Jabiim… it feels like the most quiet place in the galaxy.

_And the loneliest_.

He isn't at peace here. He's not sure he'll ever be at peace. But at least he can _breathe_. He doesn't have to think, not yet. He'll have to soon – it's been so many days and weeks already, it's not healthy – he doesn't want to yet, and he doesn't want to talk to Palpatine either. And he doesn't want to have to tell Windu about Jabiim.

Not yet.

Windu's hand rests on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Anakin."

The grief he hadn't let himself feel on Jabiim strikes again without mercy, and Anakin has to turn his head away. "Obi-Wan is one with the Force now," he says.

"Anakin. You will be all right."

_No, I won't. I don't feel like I'll ever be all right again._

Windu sighs again. "Come with me. There's something I would like to show you."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes."

Anakin follows him. Windu takes him through the gardens, deeper and deeper, to a corner of the gardens Anakin has never been to before. The trees and planation are thicker here, more vibrant and luscious. The Force is strong here, rich and gentle and calming. Anakin lets the feeling wash over him, and Windu takes him through the garden until they reach… well, Anakin doesn't know how to describe it. It's beautiful, whatever it is. A bright blue beam of light, wide and tall, but somehow not something that is electronic or mechanic. It pulsates in the Force, as if it's alive. "Incredible…" Anakin breathes, staring at the pillar of light. "What is this place?"

There are jars that glow light-blue like the pillar around the base, with… moths in them? Windu picks up a jar and hands it to Anakin. "A memorial that the people of New Holstice created eons ago, to honour all the Jedi killed since the birth of the Republic."

Anakin peers into the jar. "What are they?"

"Memory Moths. They are supposedly immortal. There has been one more added for every Jedi who has ever been killed. And now, the monument grows brighter every day."

_Oss Ilum… Hypatia Veran_… _Tai'rix Bellum…_

"I hear it whispering," Anakin says.

Windu nods. "The moths repeat the name you speak as you release it into the monument." He turns to face the pillar, expression soft. "It will be whispered in the moth's wings forever." He glances at Anakin now, and gestures at the jar in his hands. "I thought there might be some names you would like remembered."

Anakin's throat closes up, unexpectedly moved. "…Thank you."

The Korun Master nods again. "Take your time, Anakin." He touches Anakin's shoulder, then leaves the garden – and leaves Anakin alone, before the memorial, in silence.

No, not silence. The pillar of light whispers the names of the fallen Jedi, creating a symphony of comfort and memory. He realises his cheeks are wet, and he sniffs and touches the sleeves of his tunic – dark, now, the beige reminds him too much of Obi-Wan – to dry his cheeks. Anakin unscrews the lid of the jar and gentle takes out a moth. It's a curious little creature, small in his hand but glowing a vibrant blue, not unlike a lightsaber. It flaps its wings in his palm, tickling his skin, and Anakin brings it close to his mouth.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," Anakin whispers, and releases Obi-Wan's moth into the monument.

_Obi-Wan Kenobi… Obi-Wan Kenobi…_

Anakin wipes his watering eyes again. "Kass Tod. Mak Lotor. Tae Diath. Elora Sund."

One after the other, the moths fly into the glowing blue monument, whispering their names.

"Vaabesh. Windo Nend. Zule Xiss."

_Vaabesh… Nend… Xiss…_

He holds the last one tenderly in his shaking hands. "Aubrie Wyn," he manages to whisper, and begins to weep when he releases it.

* * *

_Elsewhere…_

"You vowed to kill me the last time we met."

The cold, dank dungeon reeks of moisture and rotted flesh, and the only sounds aside from their voices is the constant _drip_ of water. "Patience," she croons. "I came to give you more news of the war." She draws near now, feet wading through the bitterly cold water. "The Republic has been beaten back on all fronts. Count Dooku and the Confederacy are on the verge of winning…"

She slides her blood-red blade under his chin – not close enough to burn the mask off, but close enough to warm his skin. "We shall see," he replies.

"The Republic has already been crushed on Jabiim."

_Anakin_.

"Even sweeter… we slaughtered _all_ of the Jedi on that wretched planet. Not one left standing. Not even your Anakin."

"No."

"You'd like me to be lying, wouldn't you? I only regret that I was not the one to slide my blade between Skywalker's ribs –"

"_Damn you_ –" he snarls, and strains against his chains.

Ventress laughs. "You're easier to rile than I expected. Welcome to your 'Dark Side', Obi-Wan Kenobi."

_This_ makes him laugh. "Dark Side? You think _this_ is my Dark Side? This is nothing, Ventress. I have been through darkness that would make even you suffer. You're going to have try harder than that, my dear."

Her lips graze his mask-covered cheek, and her hand fists at the back of the black fabric at his neck. "Challenge accepted, darling."

* * *

Sneak peek for Chapter Thirty-Two ("A Certain Point Of View IV"):

_"Finis, promise me, just promise me you'll take care – get away from Coruscant, lie low until all of this is over! You don't need to put your life on the line any longer! You were right about Palpatine, he's planning something, and you – I can't – I just can't lose you. I can't."_


	38. A Certain Point of View IV

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

Wow. So, it's been a while! I've probably lost half of my readership, but that's my own fault for taking so long, I guess. But, well, I'm still here and I'm still writing this monster of a story! Most of this chapter (and the next) is heavily based on the Dark Horse _Star Wars: Clone Wars_ Volume 5: "The Best Blades" comic; all recognisable dialogue is used in this chapter. I own the character of Lien-Tsa Veran, so you won't find her on Wookieepedia or anything like that.

A massive thank you to every single person who's been keeping up with this story, and to every single person who has taken the time to review! I'm afraid I no longer have the time to individually reply to your wonderful comments, but please know that I deeply appreciate you all taking the time. I hope you enjoy this chapter! Don't mind its shortness; there is a second chapter coming close on its heels.

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Thirty-Two –  
A Certain Point Of View IV

The rumour mill on Coruscant is, as ever, boisterously ludicrous – which is why I've long since given up caring for public appearances and "appropriateness" in public and I run straight into Bail Organa's arms the moment he steps off the boarding ramp.

"Bail!"

He catches me, hugging back tightly, and he laughs. "What's this?" he asks.

Well. I haven't _completely_ given up caring for public appearances. I would very much like to kiss his cheek, but Lustoria Tempté's next novel is supposedly a sequel to _Seducing Senator Organa_, called _Looking For Love in Alderaan Places_ and I don't really want to be part of it. So I draw back and smack Bail's arm instead. Not painfully – I know he hates it when I treat him like he's made of glass, but I don't believe he ever fully recovered from Salvation Run – but hard enough to let him know that I am _not_ pleased. "You dreadful man! First that awful business with the Friends, now your ship getting attacked by slavers and pirates – when are you going to stop putting yourself in danger?"

Bail rubs his arm for show and raises his eyebrows at me. "The moment you also stop, Padmé – don't think I don't know about that assassination attempt on Ryloth."

I flush. "I hadn't realised that was common knowledge."

"More common than you think."

"Don't worry," comes Finis Valorum's voice from the side, "I assure you I've spoken to her about it."

I offer Finis an exasperated sigh and draw back to his side. "In depth."

Sadly, not the kind of 'in depth' I was hoping for – he mostly shouted at me for a bit, then advised I use my extravagant headpieces as blunt force weapons next time. But Bail doesn't know that, and he glances between us, but doesn't have time to comment on the proximity because Finis holds out his hand to grasp Bail's. "It's good to see you, Bail. Rumour in the Senate is that you were killed."

"As you can see, the rumour mill is accurate as ever." He rubs his eyes, waves off his entourage, and walks with Finis and me into the apartment. It isn't until we are inside, the dome sealed behind us to block out the dull roar of Coruscant's traffic, that we sit down on the couch together and the tone settles into something rather more sombre.

"I was so sorry to hear about your wife," I murmur, touching his arm. "How is she coping?"

Bail winces, looking more exhausted and weary than I'd ever seen him. "The healers are… advising against our trying again. Another miscarriage might kill her; it almost did this time."

"Bail, I'm so sorry. I know how deeply you both have wanted a child."

"Yes, well…" His jaw tightens and he holds himself straight, putting on the appearance of strength. Finis and I share a glance, both more than aware of how he must truly be feeling. "We must deal with things as they are, not as we wish they were. Come. Tell me the latest news. What is going on in the Senate?"

Finis looks dour, older than his already mature years, and his lips tighten. I steel myself and start to talk for him. "More and more, Senators seem content to leave the running of the war to the Supreme Chancellor and the Jedi," I tell Bail. "The war news seems mixed – what we know of it, anyway. There's been a victory on a planet called Aargonar, but stars know what kind of tactical advantage we've gained from it, if any. Jabiim…" My throat closes up. "Jabiim was… devastating."

Few know of the close friendship Bail Organa and Obi-Wan Kenobi formed during their ordeal along Salvation Run. He looks truly aggrieved now, the strength falling away from his again. "Is it true, then? About Obi-Wan?"

I'd only heard last week when the troops returned from the battlefield – long after Obi-Wan's death. "It's true," I say softly. No tears come to my eyes – I cried then, and even though the mere thought of Obi-Wan's death hits me as hard as the day I heard, I don't have any tears left. "The retreating forces arrived five days ago, but I – I've heard nothing since."

No word from Anakin. It isn't like him to not contact me, and I fear the worst for him. With Obi-Wan gone…

Bail releases a shaky breath, the sound of a man holding back tears. "The Jedi are supposed to report to the Senate today," he says bravely. "Perhaps we'll learn more."

I very much doubt it.

* * *

"…And the Separatists have since withdrawn from the sector surrounding Aargonar. Accordingly, we have reduced our forces and moved on as well. This ends my report."

I expected the 'report' to be succinct and highly glossed-over, but this is bordering on the edge of absurdity.

It's been a long time since I last felt at home in the Senate chamber, almost as long as the war – since that speech I gave barely a few months in. _What Republic?_ I'd spat, and almost three years later I see I was right. The Senate smells as sterile as it looks, but no longer does the crisp disinfectant give the lavender hue a soothing atmosphere of cleanliness and perfection.

It smells like a morgue.

I can feel Bail's eyes on me, asking _what is happening here?_, as the speaker steps down without opposition and Palpatine rises. A hush descends over the restless tomb, thousands of Senators quieting so that they may listen to the revered words of their unwilling, noble Chancellor.

"I see once again we have Knight Skywalker to tank for the fortuitous turn of events. He cold not be here with us to share the news himself with us, as he is most modest in regards to his deeds for the Republic. We could not fight this war without the aid of the Jedi." Palpatine concludes, and I watch the masses instead of the Chancellor as he asks, "Has anyone any questions?"

I'm sure some do, but most are content to look happy or content with the Chancellor's address. Happy to _accept_. And the few who do have questions, who _aren't_ happy with Palpatine, are too afraid to stand.

I would eagerly be one of those few, but Finis has warned me to keep a low profile. I don't believe Palpatine would ever harm me, but he has fanatic supporters and I've too often gotten myself into trouble in the past by speaking without thinking. I am desperate to oppose Palpatine – to stand right this moment and declare this censorship goes against the very core values of our Republic. But that is precisely the problem – I am not subtle, and by letting loose my strong opinions will put not only myself but my people in danger.

Bail _does_ stand. "Yes, I have a question."

Palpatine, I think, looks mildly surprised. Alderaan is not one for causing commotion in the Senate – but I know this has all gone too far for Bail.

"The Chair recognises Senator Organa of Alderaan."

"I understand that as Knight Skywalker was the Commander on Jabiim, perhaps we could call upon him and ask him to give us an account of the battle?"

It's his subtle way of trying to force the Senate into hearing the true story there. If Anakin himself could give the recount, if he could tell us the _truth_ – but Anakin refuses to make a public statement.

I'm desperate to see Anakin, and be there for him – with Obi-Wan's death, he surely can't be coping well at all – but most of all, I miss my friend, the man I almost shared a secret life with. He normally does contact me in the days he's on Coruscant, during his reprieve, and the fact that he hasn't yet means something is very wrong. I need to see him as soon as I can. More than Master Kenobi's death happened on Jabiim.

"We covered that in your absence, Senator Organa," Palpatine says. "If you refer to the Archive File 395873X555, you will find it there. We really must move forward."

Move forward they do.

Bail sits down, brimming with anger, but he stays silent for the rest of the session. I notice some Senators watching him – and me – still. Mon Mothma, Eleysaan of Deralia, Xinto Aldra'varr of Montexo. Lien-Tsa Veran of Stewjon, who is not a Senator but rather a General, a military leader of her own planet, and oddly in the place of the usual Senator Terra-Kai Donatus.

We can't escape fast enough when the session comes to an end. Mon Mothma catches up to us and falls into step by our side as we make our way down the endless corridors, keeping a pace fast enough to leave disputers behind but not so quick as to draw the wrong kind of attention. The video cameras and voice recorders are hidden, but we all know they're there, so we keep our voices down.

"There _was_ no discussion of Jabiim while you were gone, Bail," Mon Mothma says quietly. "Just a quick notice dropped into the archive and buried."

"I know," he replies. "I read it enroute to Coruscant. I don't understand the purpose of choking off discussion. How can we be expected to win this war if the Senate doesn't know what's happening?"

"It's a question you should put to the Supreme Chancellor."

"Perhaps," I quickly interject, "I could simply go and ask Anakin Skywalker himself. I am close personal friend of his."

"But the Senate needs to _know_," Bail insists, and I agree, I really do, but I don't think we need to do it through Palpatine.

"And they will," I say. My voice is unexpectedly stern, as though I'm talking to a disobedient child – unplanned, but it is effective. Bail falls silent, heeding the warning in my tone, and we three continue walking down the corridors.

"I've taken the liberty of calling a meeting under your name, Senator Amidala," Mon Mothma murmurs once we are clear of eager ears. "We are the loyalists – the Loyalist Committee Senators. It is still in its early days, but… there is a petition that is in the process of being drawn up."

I share a glance with Bail. "And who is part of this delegation at the moment?" he asks.

"Myself," she says, then nods at me. "Senator Amidala. Unofficially, Senator Nee Alavar of Lorridian, several others. We hope to bring more on. As I said, I've organised a meeting with some Senators and representatives of influential planets and systems. We'll be gathering within the hour in my private office."

No-one wants to ask, _Is your private office secure?_

* * *

In attendance is Mon Mothma, Bail Organa, myself – and the Senators and representatives. Senator Kil'rah Eleysaan of Deralia, Senator Nee Alavar of Lorridian, Senator Garm Bel Iblis of Corellia. And, strangely, Lien-Tsa Veran of Stewjon.

Lien-Tsa Veran is a… forbidding woman. In the various holoimages I've seen of her in the past, they always made her look softer. In real life, sitting opposite me, there is no softness to her at all. She is hard, stern, with strong green eyes and pale skin. She wears her (dyed) blond hair short, cropped close to her skull, and is wearing the smartly-cut military suit native to her homeplanet – unlike the other Senators, who are all wearing ornate and traditional Senatorial gowns. She is out of place in this gathering, both in title and in attitude, and it shows.

I've never had much to do with Veran – or the Stethos System – in the past. Naboo is a modest power in its sector in the Outer Rim and has its own trade alliances and sway with certain planets – a sway that I will not take advantage of dishonestly.

The Democratic Monarchy of Stewjon is considerably _more_ than just a modest power.

It is a peculiar planet of contrasts: its main source of income is its agricultural exports, as it is very much a farming planet, but its main source of power and influence is because it is a military planet which represents the entirety of the Stethos System. Suffice to say, if we had Stewjon as a signatory – and by default, their five colonies (one in another system all together) – it would be an incredible sway in the favour of the petition and uniting the Senators against handing over their powers to a single man.

But a planet and its system such as Stewjon do not get to be so influential without making a few enemies along the way.

"It was my understanding that this meeting was to be held between Senators," Eleysaan of Deralia practically growls as C-3PO begins serving tea, eyeing Lien-Tsa Veran distastefully. My heart sinks; we've barely even made it through the door and already there is conflict – expected, of course, as we politicians are often a crude bunch. From the corner of my eye, I notice Finis shake his head in disappointment, but not surprise. "Why is Stewjon's General with us instead of their Senator – or a Senator from one of their other planets?"

Lien-Tsa Veran answers for herself: "Senator Terra-Kai Donatus and her Junior Senator were both killed en route from Stewjon to Coruscant when their transport ship was caught in a space battle," she explains. "I have assumed their duties until a Senator from elsewhere in Stethos can arrive, or a new Stewjonian one is elected."

Eleysaan's eyes narrow even more. "Indeed."

"I am here under the authority of Stewjon's king," Veran states.

"Not your parliament?"

"I thought we were here to discuss the Supreme Chancellor's growing power, not the legitimacy of my planet's ruling head."

"Enough," Bail interrupts before Eleysaan says something atrociously stupid.

Atrociously stupid, but perhaps not unfounded – for all the influence the "Democratic" Monarchy of Stewjon could give us, I worry that it would be… hypocritical.

I put this aside for the moment, and focus on the petition. Mon Mothma was right when she told Bail it is only in the process of being drawn up – the petition is more of a concept than anything right now, but I have every intention of penning it as soon as I return to my apartment after the meeting. Finis approves of the concept but not of the execution, something we've been arguing over for the past several months now, but I believe – no, I _know_ – it's the right thing to do.

I run through the general points of the petition – once the war's end draws near, the Senate will implore Chancellor Palpatine to give up the emergency powers he has gathered since Geonosis.

"We are committing treason," is Eleysaan's response, which is telling enough of the current political climate.

"If you are uncomfortable with the notion, perhaps you'd better leave," Veran says coolly.

"Because _you_ know all about treason, don't you, Veran_._"

I am not ignorant to the recent upheavals in the Stewjonian ruling parties – some dreadful business involving the sudden deaths of the king's predecessor and the former General Veran. I sincerely hope I haven't sunk so low as to consort with a potential murderer, let alone considering reforming the Republic's ideals with the aid of a woman who may or may not be trying to transform Stewjon into an Empire.

"Enough!" Bail snaps again, this time truly frustrated. "We cannot afford to turn on each other – it is _imperative_ that we –"

"Nothing is imperative and we cannot turn on each other if we are not a 'we' to begin with. I've yet to hear an argument that outlines to me – precisely – what benefit signing this petition has."

"You can't be serious, woman," Alavar says in nigh-outrage, ever one for the dramatics. "You are part of this Republic, and you have a _responsibility _to –"

"I have no responsibility to anyone but my own people, and I assure you I am quite serious, Alavar." She narrows her eyes. "I have no love for the CIS, nor do I particularly enjoy watching the Republic sign its soul away to a very clever, very dangerous man. But signing this hypothetical document would be one of the stupidest things I could do."

She faces me now, meeting my eyes with a hard stare.

"I appreciate its intent, Senator Amidala, and I do not doubt you mean well, but I strongly advise you never present it before Chancellor Palpatine."

"If enough signatures are on it, he will listen," I tell her. "The Chancellor is a reasonable man –"

"Éamon Palpatine will listen to nothing and take the list and execute you all for treason when the time is right."

"You delusional sociopath," Eleysaan snaps.

"And on that note," Veran says, standing, "I take my leave. Good luck, Senators."

She bows her head towards me, Bail, and Mon Mothma, and spares no second glance for her critics in the room as she turns and walks away.

"Just as well. We don't need the likes of _them_ around here," Garm Bel Ilbis drawls once she has left the office, sitting back in his chair and sipping his tea.

"I quite disagree," Bail says, frowning deeply. "Stewjon might have many enemies and a questionable government, but the strength of the system and its sheer influence –"

"It doesn't matter," I say, but it _does_ matter. Losing the Stethos System… it's a blow. The Mid Rim is the centre of most of the fighting, and Stewjon holds out on its own with their own loyal army. Their trade remains strong, their economy independent, and all of the planets and systems they protect will follow Stewjon into not signing the petition.

"It doesn't matter," I repeat myself, and begin to talk more in depth about the petition and our newly formed delegation with the remaining crowd.

* * *

Ten days after Jabiim, five after the first meeting of the hypothetical loyalist committee, I make my own way to the Jedi Temple.

The Jedi Temple is beautiful, and where I once found the sterile strength of the Senate the most comforting place on Coruscant to be, I have to give that honour to the Temple. It is paradoxically ornate for the Jedi, who are at their core supposed to be humble and survive on a mere pittance; all fine marble and high arches and stunning architecture worth more than I could comprehend. But more than that, it is _warm_. Welcoming. I wouldn't have thought so several years ago – the Jedi always seemed like such distant creatures to me, hard people with disconnected morals. And they are, in some ways; the Order has faults, severe ones, like their rules forbidding love. But in other ways, the Jedi are the one last true source of light in this galaxy shredded by war.

I was once told I had the Force sensitivity of a rock – as a joke – but walking through their hallways, I can breathe again.

Perhaps I'll bring Finis here when I next get the chance. The man honestly could do to relax a little.

I do feel out of place a little, though, as I'm wearing my Senatorial gown instead of a Jedi robe and tunic. I'm stared at by the younger children, the ones who have never seen the battlefield and with luck never will. Some recognise me and smile and wave, and I wave back, making my way through the corridors until I see someone I know.

"Master Windu," I exclaim, and he looks up and walks over to me.

"Senator Amidala, we weren't expecting you," he replies, sounding ever severe. He bows to me.

"I'm sorry for dropping by without letting you know. I was hoping to find Anakin."

Windu's eyebrows rise. "He should be in his chambers," he said, sounding a little suspicious and no doubt remembering the last time he was in my company with Anakin Skywalker not too far away. I _almost_ flush. "Do you know where they are?"

"I think so." I pause, then bite my lower lip. "I was… devastated, to hear about Obi-Wan."

Master Windu's eyes darken. "We all were. Skywalker has… not been coping well. I tried to help him come to peace with Jabiim a few days ago, however…"

I swallow. "I feared so. I thought that perhaps I could –"

"Of course," he says, and moves aside.

Far be it for me to assume what their precise relationship is at the moment, but ever since the Coruscant bombings, I don't think that Anakin Skywalker and Mace Windu clash quite as much. If anything, I think Master Windu has become almost _fond_ of Anakin. I part ways with him, and make my way to Anakin's rooms.

"Anakin?" I call out, knocking on his door gently. "It's Padmé. I – are you –"

The door whips open, and I have to take a step back.

He looks like he hasn't slept in months. The sheer loss and agony he has endured on that battlefield, in this _war_, is all there on his face now for everyone to see. His eyes, usually so vibrant blue, are dark and aggrieved and swollen from crying. It hits me hard, my heart breaking for him. "Oh, Anakin," I whisper.

Anakin chokes. I don't hesitate: I throw my arms around him and he holds back, shaking in my grip, and buries his head in my shoulder. I push us both inside and close the door behind us, and hold his face in my hands. "What happened, Anakin? Talk to me."

He talks to me. I make him sit down on the couch because he can barely stand, and it takes him several minutes to become coherent. "Obi-Wan," he gasps, because Obi-Wan is probably the only thing that makes sense to him in this grip of grief. "Obi-Wan died on the twenty-third day of the battle. I felt the bond just _stop_ and it hurt so much. I miss him so much, Padmé, I want him _back."_

_Oh, Anakin. Anakin, you loved him so much. _"You loved him, didn't you," I murmur.

"Yes," he whispers, and tears stream down his cheeks silently. "Force, _yes_."

I don't know what has transpired between Anakin and Obi-Wan over the last year. But whatever it was, whatever they found together, it had been beautiful – and Anakin is hurting like a wound in the fabric of reality without Obi-Wan. He tells me about Obi-Wan's death, what happened so suddenly, and I cry with him.

And then he tells me about the children.

"The – the Padawans," he sobs, and wrenches himself out of my grip to pace the room. "All of them," he rants, eyes wild. "They were under my care, _my protection_. I was the highest ranking Jedi on Jabiim, and they all died _under my watch_, Padmé, on that _Force forsaken planet!_ And for _what?_ They died because I couldn't save them, because I couldn't _protect _them – I couldn't protect _anyone_ on Jabiim!"

His fist slams hard into the wall and I feel the heavy _smack_ of his bones breaking on contact. He howls and falls to his knees. "They – I – oh Force – I can still feel them dying, over and over again – they were so young, and –"

I'm crying now, tears streaming down my cheeks like his. I'm crying for him, for the children who died on Jabiim, for Obi-Wan, and he finally breaks down entirely, emotions he has been holding onto for so long flooding out in an agonising wave. I can't do anything but kneel beside him and rock him gently, stroke his hair back from his forehead, and hold him as he weeps.

"They were just children," he cries. "They were just… just…"

It's ages, maybe hours, before he calms down. We're still holding each other on the floor, backs against the cold wall, and his head rests on my shoulder. His sobs have subsided to a heartbreaking stammer of breath as he inhales. "Will you come with me, to Obi-Wan's memorial service?" he whispers hoarsely, gripping my hand like it's a lifeline. "It's tomorrow."

I kiss his forehead. "Of course I will."

* * *

The ceremony is a quiet, sombre affair. The HoloNet has been expressively forbidden entry to the Temple, out of respect for one of the Republic's greatest heroes. Even so, the gathering is large; every Jedi still on Coruscant is here at Obi-Wan Kenobi's memorial service.

No body rests on the symbolic pyre. Anakin had told me last night how there was no body to recover, no remains. He hadn't had time to go back for Obi-Wan's body, which surely would have been incinerated by the blast.

I try to be strong for him. I try not to cry, so that he can, but I can't stop the tears, even now. Selfishly, I wish Finis was here with me, so that I could turn my head into his chest and cry. But Finis is busy elsewhere, working hard for our battles in the Senate, so I give strength to Anakin who grips my hand tightly before walking up to the pyre and setting it alight.

"_There is no_ _death_," the Jedi murmur,_ "there is the Force."_

That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

I know most of the faces the fire reflects upon. Master Yoda, looking tired and sad. Master Windu. Plo Koon, Shaak Ti, Adi Gallia. Bail is here somewhere in the crowd. Strangely, I notice Lien-Tsa Veran in attendance; as far as I knew, she had never met Obi-Wan. She says nothing to anybody, makes no eye contact, and only bows her head towards the burning pyre stiffly before turning sharply on her heel and leaving.

Anakin doesn't notice her, or anyone else. He watches the fire burn, long after his fellow Jedi have left, and I stay with him until the flames die down.

* * *

I don't return to my apartment in 500 Republica until very late that night. I've missed about seventeen messages from the potential delegation, four of those from Finis. I answer Finis' first, letting him know I'm fine and that yes, I'd like to see him again soon to further discuss our petition (and argue about it some more over dinner). I answer the others steadily through the night, drinking a tea with high caf to keep me awake as I work.

Obi-Wan's memorial service drained me. Anakin's grief, my own grief, has exhausted me. One of the messages is Bail's, asking me to accompany him to the Chancellor's office for a private meeting first thing in the morning. I wonder, briefly, if I should bother sleeping at all, but it's only a few hours away and if I put my head down to rest now I'll probably sleep through the entire day.

Dormé tries her best to make me look presentable, applying makeup to cover up the heavy bags under my eyes, but there's only so much she can do. When I meet Bail, he notices immediately I am deathly tired.

"You should rest, Padmé," he says. "If I'd known you –"

I shake my head and offer him a weak smile. "It's honestly fine, Bail."

The Red Guards outside Palpatine's office loom silently when we arrive there. Bail announces himself, and I announce myself, and we are granted entry. _With_ them.

The last time I visited the Chancellor in his office, we at least had the courtesy of being alone. Now the Red Guards hover behind my and Bail's shoulders, silent and unnerving. My back crawls with the thought of them there, watching me.

"Senator Organa!" Palpatine greets, rising from his chair with open arms, as though he is the most comfortable man in the world. Bail bows to him, and Palpatine sighs, looking sad. "Please accept my condolences at the loss you and your wife have suffered. It is a great tragedy."

"Thank you, Supreme Chancellor," Bail says stiffly. He doesn't want to talk about it, least of all with Palpatine, and changes topic faster than turning off a light. "But I've come on two matters that I need to discuss with you."

"Indeed, my friends. Please, take a seat."

Bail declines, as do I. "One matter is in regards to the events on Jabiim," he says without fanfare. _Oh dear_, I think, because I didn't realise earlier that he was this angry. He shouldn't be here in that mood, not these days. "I've seen the file, and there was very little discussion of it in the Senate as opposed to Aargonar. Yet, Jabiim is far more important to the Republic. The Senate is charged with oversight of this war. How do we fulfil our duty if we don't know all the facts? Our defeats can be as instructive as our victories."

Palpatine nods sympathetically. "Not every heart is as unwavering as yours, Senator Organa," he says wistfully. "Some worlds might join the enemy if they think he is stronger. No, no – this is really best. Was there something else?"

And just like that, Palpatine has once again reasserted himself as the sole decision-maker for the entire Republic.

I want to talk. I _want_ to argue. But something tells me remaining silent, in Palpatine's presence at least, is the best thing I can do right now. It's been so long since I've been able to just observe him without entering the debate. If I just get this chance to watch him, to see how he works, perhaps I'll find the best way to reason with this man who was once my trusted Senator.

"Yes," Bail continues. "I understand you're intending to use the pirate attack on my ship as a reason to re-introduce the Enhanced Security and Enforcement Act. I feel this erodes basic freedoms on which the Republic is based and I resent being used as a reason to push legislation!"

"Your many friends in the Senate are so offended by this wanton attack on your person that they _insisted_ I re-introduce it," Palpatine replies. "Besides, like my other powers, they are only for the duration of the war."

"Nevertheless, Supreme Chancellor, I must tell you that I cannot support this legislation for any reason," Bail says tightly, anger roiling just beneath the surface. _No, don't get angry,_ I silently plead, but he keeps going: "And that I will _oppose_ you on it!"

Palpatine gazes at him evenly, his passiveness more terrifying than Bail's anger. He doesn't even spare a glance for me, doesn't say anything about Bail's promise – he doesn't even look angry. Suddenly I'm not watching the man who mentored me in politics; I'm watching a stranger, and a very dangerous man, and what he says next makes my blood run cold.

"You must, of course, do as you think is best. But might I give you both a small suggestion?" he says neutrally. "It would… not be wise for either of you to see Finis Valorum again. Dirt rubs off so easily, and can tarnish those who would otherwise seem clean…"

* * *

Sneak peek for Chapter Thirty-Three ("A Certain Point of View V"):

_"There is no way to prove it, but I think… I _believe_ that no matter the outcome, there will be the only winner of this war."  
_


	39. A Certain Point of View V

_Disclaimer:__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

Hah! See, I told you this chapter would be up shortly! No promises on the next one, but I will share this: I've estimated there are only four chapters left of this story. _Four_ chapters! I'm almost at the end. A massive thank you to everyone who read and took the time to review the last chapter! We're kicking off again.

Most of this chapter is heavily based on the Dark Horse _Star Wars: Clone Wars_ Volume 5: "The Best Blades" comic; all _recognisable_ dialogue is either taken directly from the source or slightly adapted, and used in this chapter. The plot, for the most part, follows canon, with the obvious contextual differences and artistic licenses I take. I am the owner of the character of the original character Lien-Tsa Veran, so you won't find her anywhere on Wookieepedia.

* * *

**FROM THE ASHES**

– Chapter Thirty-Three –  
A Certain Point of View V

"Come on, pick up the comm. link, come on, _please pick up_."

He's not picking up. It just rings, and rings, and rings, and the terror that something has already happened to Finis punches me hard in the gut, making me feel sick. My hand is shaking and I'm pacing back and forth, eyes darting all over my apartment. If I looked in the vents, in the corners, what might I find? Hidden cameras? Voice recorders? How do I even know the communicator device I'm gripping tightly is clear – what if it's tapped, and Palpatine can hear everything?

"_Pick up the damn comm,_" I growl, and it goes to the automated message system. I cut the line, punch in Finis' number again, and listen to the dial tone again. "Please, Finis, _please_ –"

"_Valorum_."

"Finis!" I can't help the cry of relief. My knees loose all their strength and I all but collapse back into the couch, nerves on edge. "Finis, it's me."

"_Padmé, I thought we agreed that –"_

I'd forgotten – agreed not to contact each other after certain hours unless it was an emergency, but I think this qualifies. "Listen to me!" I order him. "I'm – I'm frightened. Palpatine said something today, I think –"

"_What?"_

"I think you're in danger," I whisper.

No, I _know_ he is in danger. Palpatine wasn't warning Bail and me, he was _threatening_ – he knows the influence Finis Valorum holds amongst certain Senators, and he knows it has made us bold, and I am no longer naïve. I don't know what kind of monster we fools of the Republic elected as our leader who has deliberately overstayed his turn as Chancellor, but whoever he is, he is a very dangerous player.

Finis must have heard the fear in my voice. _"Where are you?"_ he demands.

"I – I'm at my apartment, why –?"

"_Stay there."_

"What –" Too late, I realise his intentions. "No! No, Finis, you can't, it's too dangerous –"

He's already turned off his comm. link.

"Damn it, Finis!" I snap, and throw my communicator against the wall. It doesn't shatter to pieces – it bounces off and rolls back to my feet. I leave it on the ground and get up from the couch to pace instead. Back and forth over the same patch of carpet, and I can barely think straight. Finis being an idiot, Palpatine's threat, Veran's refusal to join the committee, Finis being an _idiot_, Anakin crying for the man he loved and the children he lost on Jabiim, the funeral pyre – the choking darkness of the galaxy around me that has nothing to do with the night time sky.

I feel like I'm being watched. Like there are eyes peering through the windows, ears against the walls. Hundreds of blinking lights, miles away from my apartment, but how many of them can _see? _I don't feel _safe_ here.

I call for Captain Typho.

He's a good man, one of the best I've ever known. He always looks concerned for me these days – brow furrowed, his one good eye wary and saddened at the same time. "My Lady?" he asks, the door closing swiftly behind him.

"Captain," I say. "I'm expecting a guest. Valorum. When he arrives, please let him in."

"Of course, my Lady."

"And ensure everything is locked and secured after him. I want the entire apartment shut off from the outside world."

_This_ is a surprise to him. The look of perpetual worry is replaced by sharp shock. I've requested things like this before, done things like covering cameras in my bedroom all those years ago before war even broke out, but this is an extreme measure. "But my Lady –" he protests.

"No cameras, no listening devices," I order him.

"Think of your safety!"

"I am."

There isn't anything in my apartment that will harm me. It's the very security devices intended to survey and "keep an eye on things" that might. Typho leaves and implements my orders – various window shutters being lowered and locked, doors sealed. It's a shame to lose the view of the Coruscant night, but it isn't a relaxing sight anymore – it just makes me wonder how many people passing in those speeders can look in and see what's happening, see who I'm with and what I'm doing. How many of those people are _Palpatine's_.

Then I'm locked in and everthing is deathly silent except for my forced even breathing. In, out, in, out – anxiety has built up in my chest and settled like a small bomb, making me feel sick.

Finis isn't here yet. It's been ages. Something must have happened to him, Palpatine must have found him, he's –

The door opens and a cloaked man enters, shattering my paranoia. Finis takes off his hood and Typho seals the door behind him, the distinct sound of it locking beeping reassuringly. I jump off the couch and storm up to the former Chancellor of the Republic and shove his chest. Finis staggers backwards, not expecting my anger.

"You stupid man!" I hiss at him. "You shouldn't have come, you're in _danger_."

"I have never not been, Padmé."

I shove his chest again but he expects it this time and doesn't budge. "Palpatine's eyes and ears are everywhere," I snap, "if he knew you were here, again, he might –"

"I took precautions coming here. I trust your apartment is secure?"

"Very." I narrow my eyes. "More than be said for you!"

"I apologise if I have worried you."

I release a sound of disgust and stomp back over to the couch, arms crossed tightly over my chest. He follows me at a safe distance, coming to a stop before me and standing, looking down.

"What did he say to you?" he asks.

My throat is dry, my blood running as cold as it did when I first heard the words. "_Might I give you both a small suggestion? It would not be wise for either of you to see Finis Valorum again. Dirt rubs off so easily, and can tarnish those who would otherwise seem clean_."

Finis sighs and lowers to the couch close beside me. "Well," he murmurs, "he is not incorrect."

"Finis!"

"I hold a significant sway with a very small number – but in the eyes of many, I am too tainted to ever be effective within the Senate. The more that know you associate with me, the less influence you will have."

"He was _threatening_ you!"

"Yes," Finis agrees, the infuriating man that he is. I grasp his arm in desperation.

"Promise me, just promise me you'll take care – get away from Coruscant, lie low until all of this is over. You don't need to put your life on the line any longer! You were right about Palpatine, he's planning something, and you – I can't –" I tremble. "I just can't lose you. I can't."

He is silent for a long moment, then holds my shoulders gently and moves his hands down my arms. "You fear for me."

"Of course I fear for you!"

"You want me to leave Coruscant."

"Yes."

He gazes at me, then pulls out his comm. link and swiftly books a position on the freighter _Star of Iskin_, departing Coruscant first thing tomorrow morning. I'm biting my lower lip the entire conversation, and his hand covers mine towards the end. I wonder if he can hear my heart pounding erratically in my chest, deafening me to his words until he finally puts down the communicator.

"There. Tomorrow morning I'll be gone, and I suspect I shall be away for quite some time."

I swallow hard. He'll be gone, he'll be safe, and Palpatine won't be able to reach him. Finis seems to know what I'm thinking and cups his hand under my jaw, gently urging me to meet his gaze. "I have no intention of dying any time soon," he says softly, "but in these troubled times the future is unpredictable. Palpatine is almost certainly planning something, but whatever it is it will never be linked to him – just like Veruna, just like his rivals in the Senate. If I die, I will die knowing I have done everything I can to save our Republic from him, and as long as someone is still willing to fight for democracy, you won't have lost me."

I release a shaky sigh and rest my head against his shoulder.

"Stay strong, Senator Amidala," he murmurs. "In this blackened galaxy, you and the Jedi must remain our light and hope."

"Oh don't – don't talk like that, don't talk like you're already dead," I plead. "Please, Finis… I need you."

His eyebrows rise. "What would you want with an old man like me?"

"You know what they say," I murmur. "More experience."

"And there I was thinking you liked me for my mind –"

Finis doesn't finish, because I grab his collar and press my lips hard on his. Because this is the last chance I have – the last chance _we_ have – for perhaps months, maybe years, and I don't want to wait that long.

He doesn't either.

_The Clandestine Romps of Valorum and Amidala_, I hear Anakin's voice in the back of my mind, and I smile against Finis' lips.

* * *

The _Star of Iskin_ is not a passenger ship – it's a cargo ship, a tramp freighter, headed to either the Mid or Outer Rim. The spaceport is crowded and brimming with thousands of people despite the early morning hour– the sun has barely risen over Coruscant – and Finis and I blend in. We are both dressed down, covered by cloaks with hoods, and Finis' only luggage is a couple of data pads. He looks at ease this morning, and I suspect I do as well – eyes gentle, looking years younger, not quite so burdened by the galaxy. He hadn't had time, this morning, to return to his residence and collect his belongings.

Somehow I don't think he minds.

We contacted Bail in the early hours to inform him, and Bail approaches us now, pushing through the crowd and making a beeline towards us, also cloaked.

"Finis!"

Finis shakes Bail's hand. "Thank you for coming to see me off, Bail."

Bail shakes his head incredulously. "You _can't_ leave!" he protests, voice hushed but still brimming with desperation. "We need you, _here_ – we need your help with the petition, to rally other Senators to –"

"I know you and Senator Amidala will be effective in my absence," Finis interrupts. "They are more likely to listen to you than me."

"This is a second war within the Clone Wars and it's for the very soul of the Republic! My friend, you cannot walk away from this."

"I am not walking away," Finis reassures him. "But the best thing for everyone right now will be if I lie low for a while."

"Bail," I say, "I've asked him to go."

Now the Senator of Alderaan turns on me. "Why?" he demands.

"He's in danger and he is no good to the Republic dead."

_And I can't bear to lose him_.

The morning isn't cold, but I feel it anyway – last night's warmth fading into a memory as the trepidation overtakes me. From the corner of my eye, I watch the crowds merging and pushing all around us, glancing at the blur of faces and looking for anyone who might be paying too close attention. I tug my cloak tight around my body.

"_FINAL CALL, FREIGHTER _STAR OF ISKIN_. PASSENGERS MUST COMPLETE THEIR BOARDING NOW._"

Finis faces us both. "Listen to me, both of you," he says tightly. "I am going back out on the Rim. You must take the lead here. I will help you and keep you updated with whatever I learn out there."

"Do you really believe this is a battle we can win, Finis?" Bail asks.

"Some fights must be fought whether you believe you can win them or not. Watch yourselves. Be careful whom you trust."

"Be careful," I tell him – and in front of Bail, in front of whoever may be watching, Finis holds my shoulders and presses a kiss to my parted lips. It is short but powerful, the promise of _again_ in the kiss, and I clutch him back as though it is the last time I'll ever do this. Then Finis parts and slips away, merging with the crowd, and boards the _Star of Iskin_.

_It's fine. He'll be fine. He'll be safe, he'll leave Coruscant, we can talk on secure channels. This isn't goodbye._

I tell this to myself over and over, pulling my cloak around my body tightly again, and still I can't relax. The glow of last night and this morning is gone, and the empty space beside me where Finis _should_ be is painfully obvious and hollow. The engines of the _Star of Iskin_ start up and the dull roar increases until I can barely hear my own pleading thoughts. Bail moves beside me, close to my elbow, and looks at me with fraught concern.

"It's not my place to comment, Padmé –"

"Then don't," I say. "Please."

His lips pinch together. He doesn't approve, but I don't think I care much for his approval about this. Bail thankfully doesn't say anything further about it, and moves the topic along. "The Republic may be in very grave danger."

"I know."

"We'll need someone to be a voice in the Senate. But who's going to listen? 'Civic virtue' is almost an oxymoron these days."

I keep my eyes on the _Star of Iskin_ as it launches, lifting up slowly and flying towards the atmosphere, away from the landing pads. "I'm not so certain talking in the Senate is –"

We see the explosion before we hear it. My eyes are pinned on the ship that's supposed to be taking Finis to safety, then half a second later it's a blaze of blinding light and fire. A flash that blinds me and a second later, a horrific _boom_ and a shattering of glass and metal that almost deafens me, and I stupidly think, _where is the ship_ when I already know what's happened, what I'm seeing. "NO! _NO!_" I think I scream, but I can't hear myself. I've been thrown back against the hard grown from the force of the explosion and all around me people are screaming and running, thundering past and away from the inferno that scorches the Coruscant sky and is starting to plummet back down – _"FINIS!"_

I feel hands grab me and haul me up, but I can't stand. I feel Bail yanking me backwards – "_We have to get out of here!_" – and I feel myself stagger, and I clutch his arm and letting him drag me through the stampede of terrified beings.

"_No_," I moan, "he was supposed to be safe, he was supposed to leave so he'd be _safe_ –"

"_Padmé, come on!_"

He's gone, he's _gone –_

"PLEASE! THERE'S NOTHING YOU CAN DO!"

His words sound like nonsense and my ears are ringing with the sound of the explosion, my eyes burning from the light. Go, we can't go, Finis was on that ship, maybe he's alive, maybe he's all right, maybe – maybe he's not dead, maybe he didn't get on, maybe he's somewhere else he's not dead he's fine he's fine _he's fine_ –

"I'm coming," I make myself whisper, and I stagger with Bail. The molten charred fragments of the ship begin to rain down around us, crashing and burning everything in their path, so much blood, so much _screaming __–_

_No-one could have survived that. You have to get out of here. Get out of here! NOW, OR YOU'LL DIE!_

I choke on my tears and we run.

* * *

"Padmé?"

Bail's hand on my shoulder.

"Padmé, please, say something. It's been two days."

Dormé made me look nice today. I don't know how she did it. I remember sitting still at my dresser, stiff-backed and grim, tears streaming down my cheeks faster than she could wipe them away. But she made me look nice, like Senator Amidala ought to. Nothing out of ordinary. Perfect hair, perfect clothes, the picture of refinement. The large Senate chamber doesn't notice me, sitting quietly and in shock in my seat. I'm not crying now. I'll never cry in this place. They don't deserve my tears.

"Padmé?"

My lips are dry. "Put a hold on the petition, Bail," I say, the hoarseness of my own voice numbly shocking me. It's the first thing I've said since that morning. I can tell it takes Bail aback; he jerks in shock and stares at me, perhaps wondering if I've lost my mind.

Perhaps I _have_.

"What?" he splutters. "Why?"

Because there is only one person in this Senate this war benefits. Just one. And that person almost has the power to do anything. "Just do it. Please."

He doesn't get the chance to reply. The Senate sessions begins and I listen acutely to every word that's said. It doesn't look it, I can tell; Bail keeps looking at me fretfully, like a father or an older brother who is deathly concerned for my mental health. I must look numb and lifeless, and yes, I do feel that way. I feel empty and drained, and even though I know better than to blame myself for begging Finis to leave Coruscant, to get on the first ship out of here, I can't stop the agony of guilt.

But I also feel removed from this den. I see it with clear eyes, listen to it with fresh ears. My heart pounds steadily, _boom boom_, with a purpose.

I listen to Ask Aak's awful speech with disgust, paying attention to the sheep and the soft-minded idiots who nod along in agreement for the Enhanced Security and Enforcement Act. He is a dangerous man, Ask Aak; the Gran Senator who campaigned for the Military Creation Act. Palpatine's biggest supporter. Or his most vocal puppet.

"…This terrible act of sabotage, the _sin_ of terrorism, that destroyed the _Star of Iskin_, killing not only all those on board but thousand more below when it fell upon the city! The fundamental necessity of any government is to protect the lives and security of its citizens. If this government cannot currently do the job, we must give it the tools to do so! I demand, my planet demands – the _Republic_ demands! – the passage of the Enhanced Security and Enforcement Act _now!_"

It's a stirring speech. All over the chamber, Senators are screaming "_Yes!" _and "_Security!" _and applauding this further insanity, as though Palpatine is their saviour and protector.

The Chancellor himself stands to his feet on his podium and raises his hands, and the Senate obediently quietens. "My friends," he speaks. "I do not seek more responsibility to rest on my shoulders. You have already invested too much upon me as it is. However, if it is the will of this august body that for the safety of the Republic I assume this mantle as well, I defer to your wishes."

_His_ wishes. _His _wishes. Surely they know it's not really their will, it is simply their weakness, their terror being twisted by Ask Aak who speaks Palpatine's words for him, but they don't seem to _care_. They cheer, and Palpatine smiles as though he wears yet another burden of responsibility for the people.

"If there are no other voices to be heard…?"

"Supreme Chancellor, I would speak."

My head snaps around at Bail. _Not again__. Bail, not again._

"You are not officially registered to speak, Senator!" Mas Amedda snaps. "You are out of order –"

Palpatine waves him dow. "No, no. Chancellor's prerogative," he says calmly. "I, for one, would very much like to know the Senator's mind."

For what purpose? To assess Bail's stance and opinions so that he can work out which move to take next, or to make it look like he is genuine to these fools? He lies, and if I dare think for a moment Palpatine's methods are anything less than dishonest, I will sell myself to lies. No more. Never again.

Mas Amedda doesn't look entirely pleased about Palpatine's decision. "You have the chamber, Senator Organa," he says, and Bail begins to speak.

"Thank you, Supreme Chancellor," he says. "I appreciate the opportunity – as I appreciate your reluctance to accept the burdens this new Act would heap upon you. I am just as reluctant to _give_ them to you. Friends, fellow Senators, we cannot pass this Act!"

The Senate explodes; thousands scream in protest at the same time, furious, eyes wild and podiums screeching. "_This is an outrage –!"_

_"– Shame!"  
_

"_TREASON!"_

_"TRAITOR!"_

"_ORDER, _ORDER!_"_

Once I turned the Senate into this violent pack of depraved animals screaming for blood, _my _blood, when I called for negotiations with the Separatists only a few short months into the war. Since then I have watched time and time again as the slightest hint of independence makes them dissolve into an angry mob, angry that anyone dare question their lord and master. "ORDER!" Mas Amedda booms, "WE SHALL HAVE _ORDER!_"

"HEAR ME!" Bail yells over the bays for his blood. "This chamber is a place of _reason_, invested with certain powers and authorities! When power is invested in many, it cannot be seized by one! That was the plan and the purpose when the Republic was formed! The powers that this Act seeks to invest in the Supreme Chancellor belong to the Senate! They are _our_ responsibility and given to us in trust! Moreover, some of the powers in this Act were never intended to be given to the central government! They are rights that belong to the citizens and to which we do not have a claim! I have often heard that these are extraordinary times calling for extraordinary measures to deal with them! Sacrifices must be made – I agree with that! But we dare not sacrifice _who_ we are! We fight for the Republic. But what is the Republic, if not the principles on which it is based?"

_What Republic? _I remember snarling at the Senate, so long ago. _What Republic? What Republic? What Republic?_

"To case aside those principles would make even a clear-cut victory in this war pointless. These are terrible times. They stir great passions. But we cannot be ruled by our anger! These times call us to greatness. History will record how we respond. We need beings of vision. We cannot cede our responsibilities to others, we cannot allow events, however terrible, to make us less than we should be. We must say _no_ to this Act."

It is a beautiful speech. Truly, beautiful; I couldn't have said it better myself, or feel so strongly for something. It stirs me, Bail reminding me why I became a Senator, why I started the petition with Finis. It reminds me of the vision we had for the Republic; it reminds me of _Finis_. But Bail's speech hasn't stirred enough; Palpatine has more hearts and minds than an honourable speech from an honourable man could sway.

I do not vote in this Act's favour, but it doesn't make a difference.

Palpatine pretends to look like the unwilling recipient of powers, the reluctant protector of our Republic, and I know the time for words is long gone.

* * *

When we pass the Supreme Chancellor in the Senatorial halls, it takes every ounce of willpower I possess to maintain a neutral expression instead of my disgust taking over. "Senator Organa!" he says, grasping Bail's hand. "I want to tell you I thought that was a passionate speech you have in the Senate."

Oh, of course.

Bail looks surprised, but defeated. "Thank you, Supreme Chancellor, although it was ultimately ineffective."

I cannot say Palpatine looks overly upset by this. "Very powerful, nonetheless," he reassures Bail. "It is good to know in these troubled times, leaders can still rise to the occasion. I know I cannot do it all alone."

Because leaders are the dangerous ones. Leaders are the ones who stand up in the Senate and argue for the principles they are loyal to. Leaders _rouse_ people, and leaders can topple empires.

Bail is a leader, and Palpatine has his eye on him.

I won't lose another friend.

Palpatine turns to me, and now it's my turn to play. "And how are you, my dear?" he asks.

"Grateful, sir."

I feel Bail blanch beside me. He has a dreadful poker face – I'm going to have to do something about that.

Palpatine, too, is surprised. "Oh?" he inquires politely.

I close my eyes and lower my head solemnly. I hate what I'm about to say. "After the attack on the _Star of Iskin_, I… I believe it's for the best that the security measures are in place. I –" My choking over the next words is not fake. "I lost someone, you see. And even though I dislike the measures, I… I understand why they're in place. I just hate that it took the loss of someone so dear for me to be able to see this."

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Palpatine murmurs, and takes my hand like he used to, all those years ago on Naboo, patting it like a kindly uncle. "You are wise beyond your years, my Lady."

"I had a wonderful mentor," I say. I mean Finis – always, always Finis – but the implication is for Palpatine, and it works – he smiles at me, perhaps a little proudly, and kisses the back of my hand.

"My office is always open for you, Padmé," he tells me, sounding so damn sincere.

"Thank you, Chancellor. I appreciate it."

He leaves, and Bail waits until he's out of sight and earshot to speak. "Padmé, what are you planning?" he whispers, alarmed. Not so loud, I think, we don't know who's listening.

"It _was_ a good attempt, Bail," I evade. He looks ready to snap at me and ask if I've completely lost my wits, but I raise my eyebrows and he accepts the evasion.

"It failed," he says, lowering his voice. "Do you think we've lost already? Finis said some battles must be fought whether you believe they can be won or not."

"Finis is –" I close my eyes. "Finis _was_ right, but you need to put your head down now. The time for standing up and fighting for our Republic as public leaders has passed, but the battle is not over. Lie low, Bail. Do not call a meeting with the delegation until I say so. It might be a long time."

I've confused him. He looks lost, helpless, and utterly devastated; these days have taken their toll on him, as they have me. "But what are you doing?" he asks.

I breathe. "I hope I know."

And then I leave.

I have work to do.

* * *

Three weeks after Finis' death, Anakin finds me locked in my bathroom.

I don't know how long I've been sitting on the floor, back against the wall, wearing nothing but my dressing robe and clutching a strip of plastic. Perhaps hours. All I know is that I'm cold and upset and it was stupid to hope but that I made myself disappointed anyway. I have my work to remember and honour Finis by, but I thought _just maybe_, and it was _stupid_. And I've been in here for so long and ignored Dormé's pleads to let her in that now Anakin pounds on the door with a heavy fist, sounding worried.

"Padmé?" he calls again, and I don't answer him. "If you don't answer I'm gonna hack the door open."

I let him. The door whooshes open and Anakin comes through. "Padmé, your handmaiden called me, she's worried about you. Are you –" He breaks off and stares at the device in my shaking hand. "Is… is that a…?"

"It's negative," I whisper, still clutching the stupid thing.

"You and Valorum –" He shakes his head and slides down the wall to sit next to be on the cold tiled floor of the 'fresher. "I'm – I'm so sorry."

I press my lips together, and I can't stop the tears from spilling down my face. "I knew it was stupid of me," I say hoarsely. "It was stupid, to think that maybe – but I – I'd _hoped_ –"

"Hey," Anakin murmurs, wrapping a strong arm around my shoulders. "Hey, c'mere. It's okay. It's okay."

He holds me and strokes my hair, rocking me gently, and I cry into his chest.

* * *

Five weeks after Finis' death, several months after Obi-Wan's death, Anakin and I turn to each other.

It isn't planned. It isn't talked about. It isn't love, it isn't passion, and we don't pretend it's anything else. It feels good to lose myself to him again. It isn't about desire or longing – it's about the need for human contact, intimacy with someone I trust and care for, knowing that I'm safe with him and he's safe with me. Knowing that I can _be_ with someone and share our pain without fear of being used or judged.

"You loved him," Anakin had asked that night, and I'd nodded and clung to him.

"Yes," I whispered. "And you loved Obi-Wan."

He'd nodded as well, clutching back.

This galaxy is cruel and this war has left no-one untouched, but we become each other's lights when we can. When Anakin wakes in the middle of the night, shaking from terror and damp with sweat, the names of the Padawan children he watched die on Jabiim on his lips, I hold him. When I wake in tears, the glare of the _Star of Iskin_ exploding in the sky above me burning in my mind, he holds me.

It doesn't make the pain go away, not properly, but neither of us want to be alone. I'm grateful for him, for his comfort, and he for mine.

I miss Finis.

* * *

I don't always wake in the middle of the night with nightmares. Sometimes I'll wake up with an idea, or the overwhelming need to continue by work, _Finis'_ work, and I do that tonight. I take care not to shove Anakin – who tends to cling to the person he sleeps in bed with, extending his strong limbs around me like an octopus – or wake him up as I reach for my datapads and turn on my bedside light.

It was hard, getting hold of the Contingency Orders. But it occurred to me last week that I'd never read them and that they'd never been discussed in any Senate session I was present for. I don't understand a lot of the terminology of the massive document, but there is one thing that I can consistently identify: the Supreme Chancellor is the one who gives most of the Orders.

I can't make proper sense of it, however. I need someone with a head for understanding the military terms, combined with my knowledge of how the Senate works, to help me decipher the meanings of each and every single command.

My frustration must have been palpable, because Anakin stirs beside me, mumbling as he sits up and sidles beside me. "You're working?" Anakin blearily murmurs, pressing his lips to my bare shoulder. "Seriously?"

I offer him a wry smile. "A politician's work never rests." I run my hand over the documents, a shaky sigh on my lips. "This was Finis' work. _My_ work. It's important to me."

His blue eyes are cloudy with exhaustion; I suspect he's still halfway between sleep and consciousness, and the light from my bedside doesn't seem to be helping. "What is it?" he mumbles, eyes unfocused as he glances at the datapads.

"The Contingency Orders for the Clones."

"Oh." He rubs his eyes.

"Do you use them?" I ask.

"Uh, some of them. The ones that I know, like Order 6. Something about throwing communicators away. Also there's an order for them to perform the box-step somewhere."

That's… bizarre.

"But I don't use them so much these days," Anakin continues. "I just tell the Clones to do something and they'll do it."

"Would you say they are capable of independence?"

He's more awake now. "Depends on the Clone. They're all individual and can get creative with their tasks. But generally, they obey." He fixes me with a gaze. "My 501st are loyal and some of the best men I've had the fortune of serving with. Captain Rex is my friend."

Curious. And dangerous. They like Anakin, I've no doubt about that. But I wonder…

I bite my lower lip. "Anakin… I know in the past you and Palpatine had a close friendship –"

"I don't want to talk about Palpatine," Anakin snarls. I press my hand to his chest, trying to calm him. His heard pounds under my palm, his breathing hard; the merest mention of the man who was once his mentor and friend is enough to send him into a rage. Because it was Palpatine who ordered Anakin to leave the Padawans on Jabiim, and Anakin refused.

Anakin is loyal to people, not principles – but what Palpatine was going to do to those children, to that planet, was unforgivable for Anakin.

"He's dangerous, Anakin," I say.

Anakin isn't thick or slow. He knows I mean, _Don't talk to Palpatine about this_, and he nods. "You're planning something," he observes.

"What makes you think that?" I ask with a small smile.

"I know you." He rests his forehead against my shoulder, stroking his hand down my back. "You don't argue in the Senate anymore. Obi-Wan used to watch your speeches all the time, but you don't… you don't talk there anymore."

"No, I don't. There's a reason for it." I smile down sadly at him, and use my free hand to run my fingers through his hair. "You fight your battles in space and on distant planets. I will fight mine here, under the shadows."

"Please keep yourself safe, Padmé," he whispers. "I can't lose you too."

I'm not sure there's such a thing for any of us anymore. I kiss his forehead. "Get some rest. I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

It isn't unusual these days for me to frequent the Jedi Temple. I spend my time between gathering the documents I need, staying silent in Senate sessions and ignoring the questioning gazes of my fledgling delegation, and in my spare moments I visit Anakin in the Temple.

He's taken up teaching a group of Younglings how told training lightsabers, in the last few weeks. They're sweet little children – so young and innocent – Anakin dotes on them.

He'll be a good father one day, I think, watching him from the doorway. I'm sure he knows I'm here; he must sense me. But he doesn't look over yet and I don't bother him, happy just to watch him walk amongst the children and help them adjust their lightsaber grips.

I'm not alone for long. Mace Windu and Master Yoda join me only fifteen minutes into the lesson, one a towering presence by my side and the other as high as my knee. "Senator Amidala, it's good to see you again," Windu says. I think it's Master Mace Windu code for, _Not you again_. The looks he gives me and Anakin, I swear.

Nevertheless, I bow my head. "And you, Master Windu."

"Our company, you are frequently in," Yoda observes, and I nod.

"It's been good to be around Anakin, this last month. It's been… very hard on the both of us."

Obi-Wan. Finis. One after the other, both perishing in a blazing inferno of explosions. It hits me again and I wince, clenching my fists a little.

Windu and Yoda are courteous enough to give me this moment. Windu knocks on the door to alert Anakin's attention.

"Lightsabers down, kids," he says, and they all make small noises of disappointment as they shut off their training 'sabers. "Say hello to Master Yoda and Master Windu."

"H'lo Master Yoda 'n Master Window," they chorus, and Anakin scratches the back of his head.

"Good enough."

Master 'Window' pretends he isn't impressed, but I privately think he thought that was adorable. "Skywalker, with me."

"But, my class –" Anakin protests, glancing around at the children barely older than four or give.

"This class, I will take," Yoda decides, and waddles past Anakin. It doesn't escape me that the Jedi Master's gimmer stick knocks Anakin's foot; a light tap, nothing more than a bump, and Anakin rolls his eyes.

"See you later, kids."

"Bye, Master Skywalker," a combination of accents and languages and human children's lisps choruses together, and I grin.

Once outside, Windu gestures for both of us to walk with him. I say both of us; I mean he gestures for Anakin to walk with him so they can talk, and as an honorary friend of the Jedi who hangs around the Temple, I'm not told to go away when I follow and keep up.

"I wanted to talk to you about the Outer Rim Sieges," Windu says.

Anakin's eyes darken. "Yeah, how're they going?"

"I hesitate to say they're going _well_, but they are not going badly," Windu says.

I'm not certain I like the idea of the Jedi forces being so thinly spread across the Outer Rim Territories. They are separated, stretched across hundreds of systems and weeks away from each other. The Jedi Temple has never been emptier except for the children. I have to wonder why the Separatists have chosen this strange offensive in the Outer Rims, and what Palpatine hopes to gain by winning those. I keep my opinions to myself for now; I'm not a Jedi, and by all accounts I probably shouldn't even be here.

"Anakin," Windu says, "we'll be sending you to the planet of Varanat with Masters Ki-Adi Mundi and Adi Gallia first thing tomorrow."

_So soon?_ I think in a panic, but it hasn't really been that soon. It's been two, almost three, months since Jabiim and Obi-Wan's funeral service. War months are long, and Anakin has been away from the battle scene – physically – long enough to recover.

Supposedly.

I don't think either of us will fully recover.

Anakin frowns, but there isn't a fight in him, not really. He glances at me and I try not to let him see how upset I am to know that he'll be going. "Master Windu, I –"

He doesn't finish. Anakin freezes instead and cries out, as though in sudden pain, and clutches his head and begins to pitch forward on his knees. Windu grabs him first, alarmed, and hauls him back to his feet with a shake of his arm. "Skywalker?" he demands, and Anakin pushes away from him, staggering backwards. I catch him this time.

"Anakin, what's wrong?" I ask.

"Obi-Wan –" he garbles, "the bond – I –"

"Anakin?" I cry, grasping his arms. He clutches back, knees week, and he presses a hand to his head and gasps for air.

"_The bond_ –" He stares at me like a madman. "The bond, Padmé – _Obi-Wan's alive._"

It's hard to breathe all of a sudden. "Oh Force," I whisper.

"_What_?" Windu demands.

"Obi-Wan is _alive!_" Anakin yells, yanking against my grip and staggering away. He looks insane, wild, but an expression comes over his face, one I haven't seen in so very long; _ecstasy_. "Obi-Wan's alive! _I feel it!_ But he's in trouble, he needs my help – you _must_ have felt it, surely!"

Windu is frowning heavily now, severely. "Anakin, I sensed nothing of Obi-Wan!" he snaps. "Your own desires to have him live are misleading you –"

"Oh, shut it!" he snaps at the Jedi Master, and turns to me instead, as though _I_ have authority. Windu's eyes are wide with shock, but this can't be the first time Anakin has been rude to him – "I felt him in the Force – I can sense _where_! But he's in trouble and I have to go to him, I have to go _now_!"

"Then go to him," I whisper, and he seizes me and kisses me hard on the mouth. Then he's gone, running down the corridor, his boots pounding and echoing after him, and Windu doesn't call out after him or try to stop him. I'm certain Anakin realises this silent permission he's giving, to and find Obi-Wan, who is _alive_, against all reason, against all hope, and Anakin calls back over his shoulder –

"_You're beautiful, Master Windu!_"

Windu's nostrils flare in barely concealed annoyance. I don't laugh, but silently I'm shaking with impossible, _incredible_ joy.

* * *

I ride high on this joy for the next two weeks, and I throw myself into my work with the passion I burned with when Finis was still alive and beside me. I haven't heard direct word from Anakin yet, or from Obi-Wan – _he's alive_ – but I've been scouring the HoloNet for news every few hours and they've been reported on, they're _safe_. The thrill has left its mark on me; I'm still tired, more so than usual these days, but I'm almost giddy and it makes me daring, so I take the next step with my work: I organise an appointment to see General Lien-Tsa Veran. She, too, resides in 500 Republic, several floors below mine. It is not _her_ apartment, as far as I am aware; it is Stewjon's apartment, and it is where their Senator (or present representative) lives.

"You requested to see me," Veran says by way of 'hello' when I am admitted to her apartment. The two Stewjonian guards, dressed in the same white uniform she is, close and lock the door behind me.

"I did." I glance around at her apartment. It is surprisingly bare, devoid of anything luxurious. There are a couple of potted plants in the corner, and a few traditional picture frames on the fireplace mantle, a flimsi picture of the present King of Stewjon, and a smaller frame that I first think is Obi-Wan, but upon a second look is not, just a man that looks an awful lot like him. "Is this apartment secure?" I ask.

"I would not be here if it was not," she replies tightly. "Senator Amidala, if you seek to persuade me to join your suicide club again –"

"I'm here to tell you that you were right."

Veran doesn't gloat or look terribly happy about it. She pauses, then lowers her head. "So you too do not believe Valorum's death to be a coincidence."

It still hurts thinking about it. Stiff-lipped, I nod my head tensely. "There is no way to prove it, but I think… I _believe_ that no matter the outcome, there will be only one winner of this war."

Veran observes me with her cool gaze. I wonder if she has any _other_ expression. But whatever she may be feeling, she doesn't let me in on it – she only says, "How may I be of assistance to you, Senator Amidala?"

I exhale a breath of utter relief.

I could start to talk about the war, or dance around my plans and the reason I'm here. But while Lien-Tsa Veran might be good at games and subtle, she also strikes me as the kind of person who would prefer it if people got to the point of what they wanted and didn't waste her time. So I go straight to the point. "This is a list of Contigency Orders for the Grand Army of the Republic," I say, taking the datapad out of my pocket. "One through to 150. I am not a military leader, General Veran, and I don't understand much of this document, but I suspect it has not been closely observed by too many people."

She glances at it with an eyebrow slightly raised. "You cannot ask the Jedi about the Orders?"

"No. This doesn't concern them." Yet.

She holds out her hand for the datapad and I pass it to her. Veran's eyes scan the paragraphs quickly, too fast to read and understand properly but enough to gather a general feel for the tone and terminology. "You've stopped speaking in the Senate," she says, not looking up. "Do you still intend to confront Palpatine?"

"The Chancellor is beyond reason," is my diplomatic response. I notice the corner of her mouth twitch, possibly indicating amusement. It's difficult to tell with this stern woman.

"Indeed," she murmurs, still scanning the Orders.

I feel nauseous, my stomach strangely unsettled, and yet I am entirely calm. The time for diplomacy, I fear, has passed; not because it has failed – democracy will _not_ die, not while I live – but because the man who controls it all is a threat and cannot be removed by discussion. I know what I must do now, and the last several weeks' of plans are starting to come into fruition. Veran is smart; she knows, surely, what I intend to stage. A coup d'état. But again: I am no warrior, no military leader.

Veran is, and I know she has her fair share of experience in staging coups. She is no advocate for democracy, I know that; but the man she loyally serves on her homeplanet, the new King of Stewjon, _is_. It's enough of a chance for me to take.

"The 'fresher is down the hallway and to the left," she comments, moving towards the main sitting room.

"I didn't ask," I say, bewildered.

"Yes, I know," Veran says mildly, "but you are about to throw up and I'd rather you did it in the 'fresher than on my carpet."

Veran, as usual, is right.

* * *

Sneak peek for Chapter Thirty-Four ("No Man's Land"):

_"C'mon, General – two Jedi and an ARC Trooper against a band of bounty hunters? This is overkill as it is!"_


End file.
